11/18/2025
Writer number 3 in the "writers with cystinosis under age 40 in 2019" series is Tahnie Woodward . She has her memoir written titled Today Is A Miracle (her long-time online store has the same name)!
The official release date is still to be determined. Tahnie has shared a snippet publicly for readers:
Who Knew That Paris Was Such A Lonely Town
A few months after my little sister, passed on, I find myself sitting in Paris.
The airplane ride over didn’t feel as long as it was. I didn’t even go to the bathroom at all, yet I did buy perfume. Priorities.
I’m at an idyllic cafe watching the other humans live their boisterous lives; in a hectic haze of hurried steps, baguettes of bread, and an absence of deodorant. The world outside of my despair is vibrant with watercolor hues of summer scenes while I am drowning in fresh bottomless grief over missing my only sibling, blaming myself for her untimely end. And then layered on top of that crushing shame is even newer heartbreak over the ending of a romantic relationship.
Everyone in Paris was so friendly, I thought perhaps a joke was being played.
I’m inside of my head and feel like I cannot relate to anyone. Even my mother. Especially my mother. If her grief doesn’t match mine for the day, I feel abandoned. I’m irrationally angry over the fact it is impossible to find ice for drinks anywhere and Europe is experiencing a rare heat wave. I feel like a three year old throwing a temper tantrum when people around me attempt to tough love me out of my crippling sadness. I know I’m on an incredible trip, however I simply want to feel every last ounce of my pain and mourn the life of my remarkable, effervescent little sister. I want to miss the boyfriend I thought I would marry and create babies with.
I play poker outside of The Lourve with Frankie. I stick partly frozen plastic water bottles in my bra when the heat is too much. I excitedly explore the cemetery looking for Jim Morrison’s grave. I walk and walk and walk. And then I walk some more. I look at sacred mummies in all of their pristine glory and wish they could speak to me and tell me their epic escapades. I imagine my sister is there, right beside me, like it was all originally planned. I burn my finger when my bath water is too hot. I walk lazily along the beach, hopping in slow motion at times to avoid stepping on the jellyfish that are scattered everywhere. Local farmers use their tractors to launch their boats and I find this outlandishly hilarious for some reason. Elderly gentlemen are n**e all over in the sand and my eyes will never be the same.
In Amsterdam I buy a Heinikin out of a vending machine. It is warm and disgusting and yet it gives me an anecdote to share to people when I arrive back home. I go to the red light district and feel compassion for the women there. Their eyes are vacant and I wonder if any of them actually want to be doing what they are doing. Their bodies are all shapes and sizes. They look like they are in jail. I want to write a book about all of them, a compilation of all of their stories. I eat darling little salads out of lopsided white bowls. In the simple and tiny hotel in Paris, I sneak downstairs to the public computers at odd hours, in hopes of catching the ex boyfriend online so I can say “Hi.” I need to remind him of my existence.
[Picture below is of Tahnie, a woman with long blonde hair and hazel eyes. It is in black and white. The frame around her is peach and white and her proposed book title beneath her reads "Today Is A Miracle".]
