Dear Mary, I'm so sorry to read of your loss. Thank you for this primal scream of grief, which got me--got the tears gathered behind my eyes. I hear you sister when you cry, How did we get so alone? I wish I knew the answer to that. We are all walled up, you are right, physically and emotionally. I am too, even though I don't like it this way. How did it get this way? Good question. When I was in Morelia, Mexico a few weeks ago, I noticed a little "store" a few doors down from my AirBnB that I hadn't noticed before. The front door was open, and few articles of clothing were hanging in the doorway, including a Mafalda tee shirt and a cute shirt that said something like "Inhale Tacos, Exhale Negativity." I stopped and began chatting with the woman of about 40 who came forward. She told me that she and her mom who lives with her and was on the couch behind her, cast in the wan light spilling in, had opened their door to the world because they were so sad and needed to open to the world. They couldn't bear to be alone in their grief anymore. She explained her father had died the month before and invited me to to show me a portrait of him seated beneath a handsome tree. She said, "I never thought he would go. He was my best friend. We talked every day." Then, she showed me the portrait next to his and said, "This is my younger sister. She died of Covid in 2020. She was 35." The next day, I brought them grapes from Chile that I had gotten totally ripped off on but I sort of didn't care. I inwardly rolled my eyes when the young lady quoted her price and went ahead and paid. I bought a gorgeously painted blue and white bowl from the local covered market down the street and set the grapes into the bowl. I brought my offering the next morning. My new friend Marisol, for that was her name, accepted them shyly and thanked me for listening.
Oh, my stars! Christina, your post here is just the tonic I need. They "were so sad and needed to open to the world." Wow, and then the grapes and that bowl, I have it all in my mind and heart now. Thank you. Truly, my deepest thanks for your story today. I do not feel so alone.
I have not spoken of this much because I’m afraid it will swallow me in one gulp. I went to my mom’s house after work one day. She asked me to run to the store and pick up her prescription. This day was pretty tiring, but I knew I could quickly run the errand and get home to rest. Before I left, my mom asked me if I wanted to sit down (something my mom always asked family and guests to do—it was the polite thing to do). I responded that I’ll go to the pharmacy first, then come back and sit down. In that very short time that I went to the store and returned, my mom was gone… she was gone. I missed out on 20 minutes of her life that I’ll never get back! Tears are streaming down my face as I write this and that old lump in my throat is back. But, it’s alright, I know this feeling won’t last too long and my smile will come back again. Especially if I’m allowed to sit by a warm fire sipping tea with my good friend. 🌸
Oh, Jocelind, thank you for this. We are around the fire together. Your story, your hurt, the lump, and replaying the time you will never get back...touches all of we of The Tender Heart. No words will heal here...we sit, by the warm fire, tea in hand and love in heart. Thank you for your story, sharing your deep grief and in doing so, helping me feel so not alone. I hold and carry guilt over things I could have done for the two of them, but chose the tasks of the day instead, or tended to my weariness, and a variety of other "things." (Drink sip of tea) Smiles do come back, as do the memories and the sadness. Ebb and flow.
So sorry for you all, Mary! I believe I have told you before about being a youngster at your parents wedding reception, or some kind of get together for them. I don't have that many memories of your Dad, but I'm sure he was a great guy! I remember your Mom as a beautiful, kind and sweet lady. Their relationship sounds incredible. I recently lost a 40+ year frien. He passed away on St. Patrick's day. We played sports together for many years including a senior golf group, which I still participate. Everyone loved and miss him. His death affected me more than anyone, so far. Excluding my immediate family. An awesome event occurred yesterday while playing golf with our group. I got a hole in one using a club he had given me. All our buddies loved it! I called his wife to let her know and she said it made her day! And that made mine as well! I felt his prescence when I realized I used the club he gave me. I hope you have times when you feel your Mom and Dads prescence in some way!!! It is very comforting!!
Rick, thank you for this wonderful story, of loss and also triumph. I love that you shared the experience with his wife. How wonderful for her and for you. I'm sure there will be times I will indeed feel the presence of Mom and Dad. There have been a number of times, when I see something I know would've made Mom laugh, or I've thought, "Oh I need to tell Dad that." And also, thank you for your story and for reading my piece.
I wasn't able to correct a couple of grammatical errors😀 But already accidentally deleted my previous post so I'm going to leave it as written. As somebody, the Pharaoh I think, said in "The 10 Commandments ", " So it is written, so let it be done". 😀
Your willingness to show up as you are and where you are in your grief is a gift to this community because it invites us to be present to you in your grief and to show up exactly as we are, whatever that is on any given day. We live in a culture that avoids death or tries to numb it with various addictive behaviors. Many times I think we don’t know how to be present to someone else’s grief, we aren’t sure what to say or not say, so we don’t show up. What I’ve been learning with my own grief and that of those close to me is just to be there, to listen, to say “I don’t know what to say”, but I’m here anyway.
Gina, that is so wonderful, "I don't know what to say, but I'm here anyway." I smiled when I read (and loved it), showing us "as you are." This means so much to me. Thank you!
Dear Mary, I'm so sorry to read of your loss. Thank you for this primal scream of grief, which got me--got the tears gathered behind my eyes. I hear you sister when you cry, How did we get so alone? I wish I knew the answer to that. We are all walled up, you are right, physically and emotionally. I am too, even though I don't like it this way. How did it get this way? Good question. When I was in Morelia, Mexico a few weeks ago, I noticed a little "store" a few doors down from my AirBnB that I hadn't noticed before. The front door was open, and few articles of clothing were hanging in the doorway, including a Mafalda tee shirt and a cute shirt that said something like "Inhale Tacos, Exhale Negativity." I stopped and began chatting with the woman of about 40 who came forward. She told me that she and her mom who lives with her and was on the couch behind her, cast in the wan light spilling in, had opened their door to the world because they were so sad and needed to open to the world. They couldn't bear to be alone in their grief anymore. She explained her father had died the month before and invited me to to show me a portrait of him seated beneath a handsome tree. She said, "I never thought he would go. He was my best friend. We talked every day." Then, she showed me the portrait next to his and said, "This is my younger sister. She died of Covid in 2020. She was 35." The next day, I brought them grapes from Chile that I had gotten totally ripped off on but I sort of didn't care. I inwardly rolled my eyes when the young lady quoted her price and went ahead and paid. I bought a gorgeously painted blue and white bowl from the local covered market down the street and set the grapes into the bowl. I brought my offering the next morning. My new friend Marisol, for that was her name, accepted them shyly and thanked me for listening.
Oh, my stars! Christina, your post here is just the tonic I need. They "were so sad and needed to open to the world." Wow, and then the grapes and that bowl, I have it all in my mind and heart now. Thank you. Truly, my deepest thanks for your story today. I do not feel so alone.
You are not alone. Holding you close today.
I have not spoken of this much because I’m afraid it will swallow me in one gulp. I went to my mom’s house after work one day. She asked me to run to the store and pick up her prescription. This day was pretty tiring, but I knew I could quickly run the errand and get home to rest. Before I left, my mom asked me if I wanted to sit down (something my mom always asked family and guests to do—it was the polite thing to do). I responded that I’ll go to the pharmacy first, then come back and sit down. In that very short time that I went to the store and returned, my mom was gone… she was gone. I missed out on 20 minutes of her life that I’ll never get back! Tears are streaming down my face as I write this and that old lump in my throat is back. But, it’s alright, I know this feeling won’t last too long and my smile will come back again. Especially if I’m allowed to sit by a warm fire sipping tea with my good friend. 🌸
Oh, Jocelind, thank you for this. We are around the fire together. Your story, your hurt, the lump, and replaying the time you will never get back...touches all of we of The Tender Heart. No words will heal here...we sit, by the warm fire, tea in hand and love in heart. Thank you for your story, sharing your deep grief and in doing so, helping me feel so not alone. I hold and carry guilt over things I could have done for the two of them, but chose the tasks of the day instead, or tended to my weariness, and a variety of other "things." (Drink sip of tea) Smiles do come back, as do the memories and the sadness. Ebb and flow.
So sorry for you all, Mary! I believe I have told you before about being a youngster at your parents wedding reception, or some kind of get together for them. I don't have that many memories of your Dad, but I'm sure he was a great guy! I remember your Mom as a beautiful, kind and sweet lady. Their relationship sounds incredible. I recently lost a 40+ year frien. He passed away on St. Patrick's day. We played sports together for many years including a senior golf group, which I still participate. Everyone loved and miss him. His death affected me more than anyone, so far. Excluding my immediate family. An awesome event occurred yesterday while playing golf with our group. I got a hole in one using a club he had given me. All our buddies loved it! I called his wife to let her know and she said it made her day! And that made mine as well! I felt his prescence when I realized I used the club he gave me. I hope you have times when you feel your Mom and Dads prescence in some way!!! It is very comforting!!
Rick, thank you for this wonderful story, of loss and also triumph. I love that you shared the experience with his wife. How wonderful for her and for you. I'm sure there will be times I will indeed feel the presence of Mom and Dad. There have been a number of times, when I see something I know would've made Mom laugh, or I've thought, "Oh I need to tell Dad that." And also, thank you for your story and for reading my piece.
I wasn't able to correct a couple of grammatical errors😀 But already accidentally deleted my previous post so I'm going to leave it as written. As somebody, the Pharaoh I think, said in "The 10 Commandments ", " So it is written, so let it be done". 😀
Dear Mary,
Your willingness to show up as you are and where you are in your grief is a gift to this community because it invites us to be present to you in your grief and to show up exactly as we are, whatever that is on any given day. We live in a culture that avoids death or tries to numb it with various addictive behaviors. Many times I think we don’t know how to be present to someone else’s grief, we aren’t sure what to say or not say, so we don’t show up. What I’ve been learning with my own grief and that of those close to me is just to be there, to listen, to say “I don’t know what to say”, but I’m here anyway.
Gina, that is so wonderful, "I don't know what to say, but I'm here anyway." I smiled when I read (and loved it), showing us "as you are." This means so much to me. Thank you!