We are knit together by your words here in this quiet place, we “other mothers” who you dared to speak your truth to. We surround you with our love, your family, your beloved and beautiful daughter who I never met but I loved your stories of her fierceness, her strong body playing hockey and learning the care of the land and the food that nourishes. We hold space for you and the grief. And we celebrate her life. You are not alone
Thank you so much, Saralyn. I feel that, I truly do. Thank you for remembering her in that way and for sharing that with me. I have learned, in this new planet I reside on, that every parent's greatest fear is quickly supplanted by another after the death of a child and that is the fear that the child will be forgotten. The very idea of it makes me wild with anguish. I think that's why it's so incredibly painful when people, thinking they are protecting you, don't even acknowledge what has happened or won't bring up our daughter for fear of "upsetting" us. There is no un-upsetting us. This is our lives now. To hear her name, to hear of people who I wouldn't even recognise in a crowd holding memories or warm feelings about her is a luscious gift. It fills me with such out-of-proportion elation. It isn't logical, but it is. Thank you for sharing that with me and for your kindness and care.
Oh my darling friend. Today you came to me in thought. As I sit here contemplating life. My daughter’s. She and her four children have lost their husband and daddy just less than a month ago now. You came to me during those thoughts. It was sharp and I knew something so very strong had stopped your writing. I cannot imagine your pain. I can only say we are with you in this loss. This death. And, I am sorry your wonderful full of life daughter is gone. I am so sorry. Death has frequented my life so many times and with so many of my loves. The only thing I know for sure is it only gets more far away, that feeling of pain, yet is so easily recalled. You will find yourself through the years enjoying the sweet memories of her presence and she’ll remind you she’s still with you often while you’re hip deep in the work on the farm or setting out the jars for butter in the spring. She’ll whisper to you while you trudge through the snow to break the ice for water for the livestock. She’ll warm you by the fire as you catch glimpses of her in the fading light of day. She’s never far away, that beautiful girl of yours. She’s yours now and forever. May you be blessed with peace keeping your memories of her and the life you gave her. Love you friend.
Thank you, Robyn, for your beautiful words. I am so profoundly sorry for your daughter, those children who have lost their papa and for all of his extended family and friends. What thing for small children to bear.
She is with me, often and convincingly. I feel her and talk to her and keep our relationship alive in ways that are unfolding to me. It's a new language, different, but very beautiful even in its pain. When my beloved mentor, a man who was truly a father figure to me, died a few years ago, shortly after other family members had, I was indoctrinated into a world I didn't know how to navigate or control. So instead, I surrendered and made myself willing and open to what came. He taught me so much. He still does. And now my beautiful daughter works her magic, too. None of that takes away the excruciating pain of the absence of my great love, but it is there in tandem.
Thank you, Robyn, for your love. I offer mine in return.
Dearest Tara, I have been thinking of you often during these last many months, wondering how you were enduring these times we are living in, longing to read your writing and perspective of it all. I am so deeply sorry to hear this heartbreaking news. Know that there is a community of us here who are holding you in our hearts and prayers as you navigate these waves of grief. We love you.
Thank you, so much, Renée. What a beautiful gift, community and love and having people keep me in their hearts and prayers. That is no small thing and my heart is truly warmed by your kind offerings. Thank you.
I don’t understand how a stranger online can cause me to feel so sad and tearful. But then I realise you are not a stranger you are my loved and respected teacher and I feel hurt in my heart for your loss. Sending love and prayers from a little village in south England.
I second this… words fail me… but your reach has come far and deep. From a little corner of Aotearoa, New Zealand… where my heart aches and my resolve strengthens due in no small part to your words.
Oh, Abida, thank you for your open and generous heart. That my daughter's death could affect you, out there in your little village in south England, speaks to the great union of us all. Thank you for your love and prayers. I am deeply touched.
From one mother whose daughter has died to another, my deepest condolences. May you be surrounded by love and find peace in Mother Earth as your heart gradually reshapes itself to around this deep grief. One poem I read that said what I couldn’t at the time was David Hall’s Distressed Haiku: « You think that their dying is the worst that can happen. Then they stay dead. » I’m so very, very sorry for your loss Tara.
Dear Elizabeth, I am so sorry that your daughter died. It is, how you wrote, that the heart gradually reshapes itself around the deep grief. Mine is still too raw and jagged to reshape around anything. It just sits there, wounded and weeping. But I have faith and I am allowed snippets of beauty that penetrate where once they just bounced off. So that's something, that's hope. That haiku is probably the simplest and most succinct of anything I have read on grief. There it is - exactly. Thank you for sharing that with me. With love, Tara
I'm so very sorry for your loss. That poem perfectly reflects my feelings, if I allow myself to sit with them, of the ever present ache I feel for my grandfather. ❤
No words can properly express my deepest condolences to your family but I wanted to try. Reading about your children on Instagram changed the way that I parent. It inspired and ignited a flame in me to be different, to be better and to cultivate a life of meaning. Hearing you tell us the tales of your youngest daughters beauty, strength, grace and determination-brought me and my daughter closer together and truly changed the way I am raising her and my son. I am sure that so many other parents have been inspired by the vision you have painted of her to show us that our children are capable far beyond what we might have previously believed. Hearing about her life, through you, changed the course of my children’s childhood. A precious gift that I will always treasure. I am holding you and your family in my heart and sending love and light.
Dear Megan, thank you for sharing this with me. What a lovely thing to read. I am so honoured to hear that even one little drip of one little drop that I shared may have found some use with anyone. Thank you for your compassion and your generosity.
I am not a mother, but I myself am a young daughter. I don't know loss, but I know how fiercely my mother loves me. If there is anything I have learned from the glimpses of your family you share with us, it is that your daughter too knew how fiercely she was loved, and is loved still. Thank you for sharing both your words and your grief with us.
Thank you, Kelsey. That is very meaningful and reassuring to read. I know she knew how much we loved her and we know she loved us, too. Still, she continue to reach out to us in different ways and we stretch to learn how we can continue our relationship, love her in the present, not just in the past, until we hold her again. Thank you for your kindness.
Tara, I don't know you, and I likely never will, but I am another stranger's heart on the internet that you have touched with what you have shared over the years of your life and your lessons. I cried and cried when I read this post, mourning a young woman I will never meet, who practiced her tackles on her father in the snow, taking him out at the knees. I can only imagine your hurt and your grief, and I wanted to add my voice to so many here to say, 'I never knew her, but she mattered. And you matter. And thank you for sharing of her life and her loss.'
What a beautiful thing to share with me. Thank you, Naomi. I remember that day, her pummelling her ever-willing papa. Oh, how she idolized her dad. I am so grateful that the memory of that lives on in your memory. That's such a gift. Thank you.
I, too, have thought of you often in recent weeks and yearned for your inspirational storytelling as I finally begin my farmsteading journey in earnest. I will always be grateful and hold space for you and the beauty and grief you so honestly share with this world. The community you have created is blessed by your vulnerability. I am crying as I write this, and together with this community we are sending you so much love, along with the sincerest apologies that it will never be enough.
Dear Meredith, it's true, nothing will every be enough for the rest of my days, but love is good and I will take all I can get. I am so happy to hear that you have found yourself on a path of farmsteading. Congratulations!
This is heartbreaking news. It’s hard to accept. I grieve with you. And thank you for sharing your real life (& deaths) with us all. It is what we need, more than we may realize. It reminds us that there is still beauty in the ashes, humanity amidst technology, light amidst darkness.
Thank you, Hilda. I didn't think I could start sharing anything and not speak of the most profoundly devastating thing that has ever happened in our lives. If there is not authenticity and honesty between us, what is there at all? You are a shining light and I am often warmed by what you share with the world. Thank you.
Your courage, fierceness and love has never ceased to amaze me. My heart hurts for you mama, and your family. I don’t know you personally, but have come to know you through your writings and the things you have shared with the world. Nothing I say will help you find peace, so I pray that it is near you and within your reach. I am sorry that this world is no longer blessed with your beautiful daughter. I will hold you and your family close and pray you find strength and somehow feel the love of those who have come to know you here.
Thank you for your beautiful words, Heather. Peace comes in dribbles, mostly when I feel the closeness of my daughter who speaks a different language now, not of words, but through senses. I'm trying to understand and stretch my understanding of our place and our meaning. Kind of like stretching out of a crouched position I've been in too long - I'm all stiff and lightheaded, a little off kilter by the vastness of it all. Anyway, thank you. Your words felt like a wonderful hug.
I remember when she labeled the dog bones with reasons the dog didn't deserve them. What a lovely sense of humor she had, that made me laugh and laugh at the time. I am so very sorry for your loss. Her memory will live on in our hearts.
Oh, Kaitlyn, what a wonderful thing, to hear that you remembered that! You know, there are still two bags with bones in them at the bottom of the freezer that we cannot bring ourselves to us. It made me so happy to hear that you remembered that. We kept each of those bags on a nail in the garage. She was such a funny, creative person. Thank you so much for sharing that with me. It made me smile.
I'm so happy to hear that I made you smile! I wish only it was under happier circumstances. I hope you can keep those bags forever. And I hope that they can give you a good laugh every now and again. It makes me so glad to hear that my message brought you some happiness, truly!! Sending love and gratitude you're way dear Tara💛
Interesting to see others comment about how you came to mind. I feel like life is a whirlwind at times yet just a few days ago you popped into my mind and I wondered how you were doing. Within such a brief time you made such an enormous impact on my life and outlook and I have always been so thankful that you chose to share on IG which treats anything real and genuine with hostility.
I have lived through a kind of suffocating grief but my experience can't even begin to imagine what you've been living through. My heart aches thinking about it and all I can do is offer love.
It is powerful for me to hear that so many people started thinking of me a few days or weeks before I posted. Truth be told, I did not really want to come back to the screen, but the pokes became the nudges and the nudges became constant harping - messages from outside of myself that I thought it best to listen to. Maybe you all were hearing the echos of that.
Thank you for the offer of love, I will take it all.
I am so sorry, Tara. When I was a first-time mom, I was scared often that I'd lose my son. Oftentimes, I'd sleep on the floor to make sure I could hear his light breathing. And it was through Brene Brown that I learned that fear is the opposite of joy. My fear of loss was robbing me of joy. As a writer, I fell in love with your writing, your family values, and your teachings. The way you can write about life and death (and the way we should treat nature and eat nature!), was truly poetic. While I cannot even begin to imagine the pain of loss, I know that of all people, you will find the right words at the right time, to share your heart's pain. And whenever that day comes (and whether or not you decide to share with us publicly), I will be praying for peace for your family. Thank you for sharing glimmers of hope in humankind. You are sorely missed online.
"He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." - Revelation 21:4
Dearest Tara. Words are never the right shape to fit heartfelt condolences, and they’re failing me now. And yet you use them so beautifully even in your deepest grief to form bonds with relative strangers. Maybe because your words are part of our everything, the Nature you remind us to cherish over and over. Sending love to you and yours xx
My husband and I grieved your loss together and hugged each other close when we read this. We have been admiring your family from afar for several years, hopeful and optimistic that we will be able to achieve the same outcomes that you have with our shared set of values, when we become parents one day. The world so desperately needs more young people of strength, and perseverance, and ingenuity, and vibrance... I was always so excited to see your posts on mothering and children, because it is such a blessing and a light to see children being brought up so saturated in truth. Our hearts are with you and your family as you navigate this on top of the tremulous goings on of our world. We've never met and who knows if we ever will, but know how loved you all are. Thank you for continuing to think of those of us who take your words to heart.
Oh, Lisa, what an incredibly beautiful thing to share with me. Thank you. I imagined you and your husband hugging each other and there is a knowing in me that just that precious act of generosity and connection reached its way beyond the two of you, out into the ether of the unknown. I think, and you may think me nutty, but that's ok, that the memories and love shared for someone that has died here reaches them 'there'. She is still around, she is teaching me still. I just ache to hold her again, to bury my face in her horse's mane of hair and breathe her all in.
Thank you for your love and your kindness. Your words made me cry from all the beauty and anguish swirling about them. Thank you.
We are knit together by your words here in this quiet place, we “other mothers” who you dared to speak your truth to. We surround you with our love, your family, your beloved and beautiful daughter who I never met but I loved your stories of her fierceness, her strong body playing hockey and learning the care of the land and the food that nourishes. We hold space for you and the grief. And we celebrate her life. You are not alone
Thank you so much, Saralyn. I feel that, I truly do. Thank you for remembering her in that way and for sharing that with me. I have learned, in this new planet I reside on, that every parent's greatest fear is quickly supplanted by another after the death of a child and that is the fear that the child will be forgotten. The very idea of it makes me wild with anguish. I think that's why it's so incredibly painful when people, thinking they are protecting you, don't even acknowledge what has happened or won't bring up our daughter for fear of "upsetting" us. There is no un-upsetting us. This is our lives now. To hear her name, to hear of people who I wouldn't even recognise in a crowd holding memories or warm feelings about her is a luscious gift. It fills me with such out-of-proportion elation. It isn't logical, but it is. Thank you for sharing that with me and for your kindness and care.
Oh my darling friend. Today you came to me in thought. As I sit here contemplating life. My daughter’s. She and her four children have lost their husband and daddy just less than a month ago now. You came to me during those thoughts. It was sharp and I knew something so very strong had stopped your writing. I cannot imagine your pain. I can only say we are with you in this loss. This death. And, I am sorry your wonderful full of life daughter is gone. I am so sorry. Death has frequented my life so many times and with so many of my loves. The only thing I know for sure is it only gets more far away, that feeling of pain, yet is so easily recalled. You will find yourself through the years enjoying the sweet memories of her presence and she’ll remind you she’s still with you often while you’re hip deep in the work on the farm or setting out the jars for butter in the spring. She’ll whisper to you while you trudge through the snow to break the ice for water for the livestock. She’ll warm you by the fire as you catch glimpses of her in the fading light of day. She’s never far away, that beautiful girl of yours. She’s yours now and forever. May you be blessed with peace keeping your memories of her and the life you gave her. Love you friend.
Thank you, Robyn, for your beautiful words. I am so profoundly sorry for your daughter, those children who have lost their papa and for all of his extended family and friends. What thing for small children to bear.
She is with me, often and convincingly. I feel her and talk to her and keep our relationship alive in ways that are unfolding to me. It's a new language, different, but very beautiful even in its pain. When my beloved mentor, a man who was truly a father figure to me, died a few years ago, shortly after other family members had, I was indoctrinated into a world I didn't know how to navigate or control. So instead, I surrendered and made myself willing and open to what came. He taught me so much. He still does. And now my beautiful daughter works her magic, too. None of that takes away the excruciating pain of the absence of my great love, but it is there in tandem.
Thank you, Robyn, for your love. I offer mine in return.
Dearest Tara, I have been thinking of you often during these last many months, wondering how you were enduring these times we are living in, longing to read your writing and perspective of it all. I am so deeply sorry to hear this heartbreaking news. Know that there is a community of us here who are holding you in our hearts and prayers as you navigate these waves of grief. We love you.
Thank you, so much, Renée. What a beautiful gift, community and love and having people keep me in their hearts and prayers. That is no small thing and my heart is truly warmed by your kind offerings. Thank you.
I don’t understand how a stranger online can cause me to feel so sad and tearful. But then I realise you are not a stranger you are my loved and respected teacher and I feel hurt in my heart for your loss. Sending love and prayers from a little village in south England.
I second this… words fail me… but your reach has come far and deep. From a little corner of Aotearoa, New Zealand… where my heart aches and my resolve strengthens due in no small part to your words.
Arohanui, Renée Crocker.
Dear Renée with the strengthened resolve and aching heart, I just want to wrap you up in a hug. My daughter told me that mine were the best of all.
Oh, Abida, thank you for your open and generous heart. That my daughter's death could affect you, out there in your little village in south England, speaks to the great union of us all. Thank you for your love and prayers. I am deeply touched.
From one mother whose daughter has died to another, my deepest condolences. May you be surrounded by love and find peace in Mother Earth as your heart gradually reshapes itself to around this deep grief. One poem I read that said what I couldn’t at the time was David Hall’s Distressed Haiku: « You think that their dying is the worst that can happen. Then they stay dead. » I’m so very, very sorry for your loss Tara.
Dear Elizabeth, I am so sorry that your daughter died. It is, how you wrote, that the heart gradually reshapes itself around the deep grief. Mine is still too raw and jagged to reshape around anything. It just sits there, wounded and weeping. But I have faith and I am allowed snippets of beauty that penetrate where once they just bounced off. So that's something, that's hope. That haiku is probably the simplest and most succinct of anything I have read on grief. There it is - exactly. Thank you for sharing that with me. With love, Tara
I'm so very sorry for your loss. That poem perfectly reflects my feelings, if I allow myself to sit with them, of the ever present ache I feel for my grandfather. ❤
Thank you, Amanda. The ache replaces the physical love that has nowhere to go. I'm sorry your grandfather died.
No words can properly express my deepest condolences to your family but I wanted to try. Reading about your children on Instagram changed the way that I parent. It inspired and ignited a flame in me to be different, to be better and to cultivate a life of meaning. Hearing you tell us the tales of your youngest daughters beauty, strength, grace and determination-brought me and my daughter closer together and truly changed the way I am raising her and my son. I am sure that so many other parents have been inspired by the vision you have painted of her to show us that our children are capable far beyond what we might have previously believed. Hearing about her life, through you, changed the course of my children’s childhood. A precious gift that I will always treasure. I am holding you and your family in my heart and sending love and light.
Dear Megan, thank you for sharing this with me. What a lovely thing to read. I am so honoured to hear that even one little drip of one little drop that I shared may have found some use with anyone. Thank you for your compassion and your generosity.
I am not a mother, but I myself am a young daughter. I don't know loss, but I know how fiercely my mother loves me. If there is anything I have learned from the glimpses of your family you share with us, it is that your daughter too knew how fiercely she was loved, and is loved still. Thank you for sharing both your words and your grief with us.
Thank you, Kelsey. That is very meaningful and reassuring to read. I know she knew how much we loved her and we know she loved us, too. Still, she continue to reach out to us in different ways and we stretch to learn how we can continue our relationship, love her in the present, not just in the past, until we hold her again. Thank you for your kindness.
Tara, I don't know you, and I likely never will, but I am another stranger's heart on the internet that you have touched with what you have shared over the years of your life and your lessons. I cried and cried when I read this post, mourning a young woman I will never meet, who practiced her tackles on her father in the snow, taking him out at the knees. I can only imagine your hurt and your grief, and I wanted to add my voice to so many here to say, 'I never knew her, but she mattered. And you matter. And thank you for sharing of her life and her loss.'
What a beautiful thing to share with me. Thank you, Naomi. I remember that day, her pummelling her ever-willing papa. Oh, how she idolized her dad. I am so grateful that the memory of that lives on in your memory. That's such a gift. Thank you.
I, too, have thought of you often in recent weeks and yearned for your inspirational storytelling as I finally begin my farmsteading journey in earnest. I will always be grateful and hold space for you and the beauty and grief you so honestly share with this world. The community you have created is blessed by your vulnerability. I am crying as I write this, and together with this community we are sending you so much love, along with the sincerest apologies that it will never be enough.
Dear Meredith, it's true, nothing will every be enough for the rest of my days, but love is good and I will take all I can get. I am so happy to hear that you have found yourself on a path of farmsteading. Congratulations!
This is heartbreaking news. It’s hard to accept. I grieve with you. And thank you for sharing your real life (& deaths) with us all. It is what we need, more than we may realize. It reminds us that there is still beauty in the ashes, humanity amidst technology, light amidst darkness.
Thank you, Hilda. I didn't think I could start sharing anything and not speak of the most profoundly devastating thing that has ever happened in our lives. If there is not authenticity and honesty between us, what is there at all? You are a shining light and I am often warmed by what you share with the world. Thank you.
Your courage, fierceness and love has never ceased to amaze me. My heart hurts for you mama, and your family. I don’t know you personally, but have come to know you through your writings and the things you have shared with the world. Nothing I say will help you find peace, so I pray that it is near you and within your reach. I am sorry that this world is no longer blessed with your beautiful daughter. I will hold you and your family close and pray you find strength and somehow feel the love of those who have come to know you here.
Thank you for your beautiful words, Heather. Peace comes in dribbles, mostly when I feel the closeness of my daughter who speaks a different language now, not of words, but through senses. I'm trying to understand and stretch my understanding of our place and our meaning. Kind of like stretching out of a crouched position I've been in too long - I'm all stiff and lightheaded, a little off kilter by the vastness of it all. Anyway, thank you. Your words felt like a wonderful hug.
I remember when she labeled the dog bones with reasons the dog didn't deserve them. What a lovely sense of humor she had, that made me laugh and laugh at the time. I am so very sorry for your loss. Her memory will live on in our hearts.
Oh, Kaitlyn, what a wonderful thing, to hear that you remembered that! You know, there are still two bags with bones in them at the bottom of the freezer that we cannot bring ourselves to us. It made me so happy to hear that you remembered that. We kept each of those bags on a nail in the garage. She was such a funny, creative person. Thank you so much for sharing that with me. It made me smile.
I'm so happy to hear that I made you smile! I wish only it was under happier circumstances. I hope you can keep those bags forever. And I hope that they can give you a good laugh every now and again. It makes me so glad to hear that my message brought you some happiness, truly!! Sending love and gratitude you're way dear Tara💛
Interesting to see others comment about how you came to mind. I feel like life is a whirlwind at times yet just a few days ago you popped into my mind and I wondered how you were doing. Within such a brief time you made such an enormous impact on my life and outlook and I have always been so thankful that you chose to share on IG which treats anything real and genuine with hostility.
I have lived through a kind of suffocating grief but my experience can't even begin to imagine what you've been living through. My heart aches thinking about it and all I can do is offer love.
It is powerful for me to hear that so many people started thinking of me a few days or weeks before I posted. Truth be told, I did not really want to come back to the screen, but the pokes became the nudges and the nudges became constant harping - messages from outside of myself that I thought it best to listen to. Maybe you all were hearing the echos of that.
Thank you for the offer of love, I will take it all.
I am so sorry, Tara. When I was a first-time mom, I was scared often that I'd lose my son. Oftentimes, I'd sleep on the floor to make sure I could hear his light breathing. And it was through Brene Brown that I learned that fear is the opposite of joy. My fear of loss was robbing me of joy. As a writer, I fell in love with your writing, your family values, and your teachings. The way you can write about life and death (and the way we should treat nature and eat nature!), was truly poetic. While I cannot even begin to imagine the pain of loss, I know that of all people, you will find the right words at the right time, to share your heart's pain. And whenever that day comes (and whether or not you decide to share with us publicly), I will be praying for peace for your family. Thank you for sharing glimmers of hope in humankind. You are sorely missed online.
"He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." - Revelation 21:4
Thank you for your beautiful words and kindness, Judy. Your prayers are received with gratitude and love. ❤️
Dearest Tara. Words are never the right shape to fit heartfelt condolences, and they’re failing me now. And yet you use them so beautifully even in your deepest grief to form bonds with relative strangers. Maybe because your words are part of our everything, the Nature you remind us to cherish over and over. Sending love to you and yours xx
Thank you, Jessica.
My husband and I grieved your loss together and hugged each other close when we read this. We have been admiring your family from afar for several years, hopeful and optimistic that we will be able to achieve the same outcomes that you have with our shared set of values, when we become parents one day. The world so desperately needs more young people of strength, and perseverance, and ingenuity, and vibrance... I was always so excited to see your posts on mothering and children, because it is such a blessing and a light to see children being brought up so saturated in truth. Our hearts are with you and your family as you navigate this on top of the tremulous goings on of our world. We've never met and who knows if we ever will, but know how loved you all are. Thank you for continuing to think of those of us who take your words to heart.
Oh, Lisa, what an incredibly beautiful thing to share with me. Thank you. I imagined you and your husband hugging each other and there is a knowing in me that just that precious act of generosity and connection reached its way beyond the two of you, out into the ether of the unknown. I think, and you may think me nutty, but that's ok, that the memories and love shared for someone that has died here reaches them 'there'. She is still around, she is teaching me still. I just ache to hold her again, to bury my face in her horse's mane of hair and breathe her all in.
Thank you for your love and your kindness. Your words made me cry from all the beauty and anguish swirling about them. Thank you.