Danielle Mongeon Hasson

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about me.

I am a homeschooling mother to eight of my favorite humans. I am passionate about good storytelling and classic literature. I am forever grateful to my husband who introduced me to G.K. Chesterton and Jane Austen, changing my book-loving life forever.

Open book, hardback books on bright colorful background.

"A good novel tells us the truth about its hero. But a bad novel tells us the truth about its author."

--G.K. Chesterton


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March 20th

Kent Mongeon was born on September 19, 1946 and passed away on March 20, 1992 in a hospital bed with his wife at his side. I wasn’t there. I was staying at a friend’s house and my mother called me in the morning, telling me to come home. This has haunted me. I want to go back in time and tell my 18-year-old self to sit in his room. To pray. To know that I spent that moment loving him and hopefully bringing him comfort. But I didn’t. I’ve never been good with goodbyes. I put them off until the last possible minute and then am surprised that they come so soon, even when I know they are inevitable.

As I write I find myself weaving Dad into my stories. He is there in the friend who puts everyone at ease and loves smart humor. In the steady quiet man of faith. In the person who understands that there is good and bad in everyone but who chooses to appreciate the good and meet people where they are. He’s there as the smartest person in the room and also the most well-liked. He’s there in the character who loves a good-natured argument and understands how to have one. He’s even there in the side character who gets the redemption story Dad wanted for his friend but never got to see.

I write characters who have survived loss. I think about my mom who has lost more than one beloved friends and family to cancer and nursed them all with grace and patience. I remember how lovingly she cared for Dad and I write her into my stories too. I write about the faith they shared and they passed down to me.

As of this writing, Dad has been gone for thirty-two years. I weave him into my stories because I was lucky to have known him and I hope I can carry his goodness and good sense into the world. He continues to inspire me and form me long after he left me. And maybe some day he will live on in my pages even after I’m gone.