We belong to the same club...this year my membership hit the 10 year milestone of losing my youngest. I struggle between feeling at times there is too much mom in me in those moments of longing, wanting to look upon my two sons, feel them both in my arms, hear the banter, watch their engagement, track their progress and growth....and then there are the times when I worry I'm not enough mom to my oldest when searching for balance among self-family-work as he is hurtling through his development and I want to scream "slow down" knowing it is all so fleeting and that all that exists is now.
Your words melt over me, I absorb them, pull your heart toward mine seeking solace, comfort and shared understanding. I remind myself, often when the struggle has me feeling so worn and tired, there is only room for love....show up with love...there is no such thing as too much love.
I recently heard a description of grief as being all the love you were not able to give, share, express. My son, Axel, died too soon leaving me with so much love left to give him. I continue to love him and believe our energies dance with each other, a forever connection.
Thank you for sharing with us, Tara. And for the realness in what you share and the beauty in how you share it.
I am so sad that we belong to this same, hideous club. I am so sorry that your sweet boy no longer trods upon this earth. And I agree with you, your energies remain entangled, always and forever. Big hugs to you, Sheila.
Thank you, Tara. I wish you and your family peace, comfort and joy this Christmas. May we all be present to focus on the beauty and love that surrounds us. 💜
Reading this over my morning coffee and remembering those days when I couldn’t sit over a warm cup in the quiet dawn-too much mothering to do. I am with you Tara and all of you who have entered this mysterious phase of life. No one prepares us for it. You captured it’s pain, longing, and beauty perfectly.
This is so beautifully written Tara… I have never lived a similar situation (I’m not even a mother yet) but I feel you so deeply…
I’ve been abused by my parents my whole childhood until I left at 19. Even if they are both deeply wounded and toxic creatures I still love them and I don’t know where that love is supposed to go now… they are definitely not dead but I had to mourn my parents since day 1 (even when I was abused and not 100% aware of what was going on I never felt like I had parents because I would never feel secure around them).
The love you have for your daughters gives me so much hope.
You are the mother (in so many ways) that I wish I had.
You are so generous…
And I don’t know for other people (I guess it depends if your parents were « good » parents) but I’d definitely need a mother in my life.
Thank you for everything you share with us Tara. In some strange way you’re like a mother to me… I learn so much from your loving, generous soul… <3
I feel this so much, as a fellow child of abusive parents (currently in the process of going no-contact). The grief is immense. I love Tara’s definition of “all the love we didn’t get to give them”. Reading this essay felt so painful for me — to see Tara’s beautiful love and respect and care for her children. My own experience is that the yearning and need for a mother never goes away, no matter what age.💔❤️
We have had very problematic relationships with family that we have had to end as well. It is incredibly painful, but I'm sure this is a decision you do not take lightly. I believe that we can end a relationship with another because of the pain it brings us, but still hold love for them. We don't, and really we shouldn't, hold malice towards them, that's just more anguish for our hearts. Instead, we "earn our way out" by attempts at conversation and reconciliation. If there is no desire for all parties to self-reflect, take responsibility for their actions, and move forward holding mutual respect in relationship, there comes a time when it can become impossible to maintain. A constant demand to sacrifice one's own peace and harmony in any relationship, despite our best efforts, is not sustainable, healthy, or reasonable.
Oh, Ava, I just want to rush into the little Ava's life and scoop her up and cover her in the love and security she deserved. I often felt alone and sad as a child and turned into a teenager that lashed out at the world and herself as response. I think now, in my old age (okay, not that old) I've finally been able to work through many old wounds and to appreciate the gifts in them. It probably sounds trite, but it's genuinely true. If there is anything I offer through my sharing that helps you to feel even a crumb of nurturing, I am satisfied. Big hugs to you.
Oh Tara, thank you for writing this. My kids are changing, fast, before my eyes, and I'm uneasily wondering what comes next, once my role of cook/chauffeur is obsolete. I miss the tiny bodies wanting to be held and read to - what to do with my primary skill set, which is "nurture?"
May the Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.
Thank you for the beautiful prayer, Karis. You will always have the gift to nurture, never let it fade. Find other ways to keep that beautiful trait alive. And even when your kids are jumbo, they will probably still love a cuddle or a back scratch from their mama.
Tara your writings are the most precious thing in my inbox. Thank you for every heart felt courageously excavated sentiment and realization shared. That kind of depth is hard won to say the least. I am not a mother except to myself but I have been mothered, well, by thousands, especially my own. And I needed every single one of them, still do, ha! more than ever in these times. And you are helping me see they needed me as much as I did them-I didn't really get that. I was very close to my Oma, my mother’s mother. And that has not changed, only grown deeper with her passing 23 years ago. It is in my most difficult moments I feel that deep pang of loss again, which I now understand as a visitation. I’ve been seeing her in my dreams lately. She always comes when I need her and all she wants to know is am I ok. To prepare myself. For another challenge. And that I can do it, what ever the ‘it’ that is coming is. And last night I dreamt of my paternal Oma for the first time … she talked about how hard it was to bear 4 children during wartimes and all the struggles to raise them. She was letting me know ‘to whom much is given, much is expected’. As I try to see into the future for how best to prepare for these incredible times I feel my mother and grandmothers around me, and more and more of my foremothers come into awareness. They never go away, and yes the love is always here and now. What else can be? You say you don't think she still needs a mother? I can assure you with everything I am made of she still does. It works both ways, you shared that today, how much mothers need their daughters and so it is. It does not end, yes it appears differently but no, it cannot be just a one way need and love. Please never stop loving or writing. Sending my prayers and love for you and your family.
Thank you, Sonja. Your words made me cry. All good, all needed. Our ancestors live on in our bones, we are made of them. What a beautiful gift, to be visited by these women now. Yes, we need them and they need us. Interconnected as all life is.
I've been reading you for a while, Tara, and always, your words linger. Your ideas and musings perculate in my mind long after I've read your last word. This reading, however, made me curse the coldness of my screen. I wanted more, even as tears rolled down my cheeks and blurred my vision, and my heart ached, I wanted more. I found myself wishing this was a conversation we were having, shared confessions quietly offered as omens into the fog of our steaming tea cups.
Thank you, Chantal. It's so nice to think of my words lingering in your world. I want more, too. And the conversation over steaming tea cups is something I will imagine until I can feel the heat on my nose.
Oof, Tara. I was going to wait to read your words until I had a quiet moment..but then I couldn’t wait and read them in the midst of the morning chaos with my 3 little ones. Your rawness, your immense love, has a way of instantly shifting my perspective. Thankful for you, as always.
It's been four years since my windshield crash and I'm still reeling from its impact. Mothering the ones here close to me while also constantly yearning for the one ripped from my embrace. Thank you for sharing part of your story.
Tara, I didn’t have a relationship with my mother like the one you describe, and I have chosen not to have children this time around the sun, but the truth of your words makes me ache deep in my heart. something that I haven’t specifically experienced but part of me knows. Your essay is often bring me to tears, but this one especially. I hope you also know that you are loved, and you are safe.
Once again Tara you have hit upon something near and dear to my heart. In my Palliative practice I use the word surrender often. Folks recoil from it, equating surrender with giving up victims of the “cancer survivor” rhetoric. Survivor equals winner so the dying are losers? Fuck that, we are all just living until we die. I encourage them to surrender to their situation but continue to have goals, dreams and hope even just let go of the battle narrative and simply be. I further this with discussing what healing truly is, healing is not simply being cured healing is living as fully as possible with the limitations of one’s current reality and sometimes healing is death.
Your wonderfully descriptive prose of all the different Taras is so spot on for me. A few years back I created a hook rug entitled “me myself and I”, it has eight versions of myself as very pivotal moments in my life. A young bride, an Army medic, a gardener, a nurse, a mother nursing an infant, a spiritual essence, a chubby polar dipper and a blonde (long held dream, which lasted less than 24 hours). I may have to revisit this subject matter in another rug when I have accumulated some more life experiences should I live long enough to do so. It was such a fun piece to hook and so enlightening…all the Lisa’s have played a role in build to current iteration.
Much love to you brave brilliant lady. In a world of plastic you are absolute salt of the earth🖤
I lost my little brother this spring to cancer and your words are so true. He became a heroic person, not in that he was "cured" but that life became so clear to him and he gave his love to all of us so freely. I can tell you are wonderful at the work you do, and it is so important. Blessings.
Lisa, I absolutely adore what you wrote about the people in your palliative practice. There is such a warfare rhetoric around chronic illness, cancer particularly. So, those that don't live are what? The losers? We are a strange lot, indeed.
I also love the idea of your rug. How fantastically creative! Thank you for such kind words.
Oh, Tara. Oh, Tara. Im in tears. I feel lost in this world. Every day I’m faced with yet another obstacle within to face. More ugly truth to be uncovered, and swallowed with bravery. Feels like I’m ricocheting from lesson to lesson. Thing I need to do, people I need to move on from, dignity I must have. Risking my well-being for the small chance of fixing someone who sees me as less-than-human.
Growing up is tougher than anything this world has to offer, and I am weary. But, like the stamina filled youngster I am, I get back up over and over again, fiercely searching for the next fight within. Thank you for writing pieces that help me get myself there.
Leeanna, I have long believed that more is asked of some of us than others and I do not believe in random chaos. I believe in divinity and purpose. I believe that when we inhabit hardship and pain, we are present to our purpose and the lessons being offered. It doesn't make it easy and who wouldn't want to coast for a little bit (I think we all usually get a bit of let-up every now and then). This is a wild and wooly time, but you are here now for a reason. Tenacity and grit when you need it, love and reflection in the wake. xo
We belong to the same club...this year my membership hit the 10 year milestone of losing my youngest. I struggle between feeling at times there is too much mom in me in those moments of longing, wanting to look upon my two sons, feel them both in my arms, hear the banter, watch their engagement, track their progress and growth....and then there are the times when I worry I'm not enough mom to my oldest when searching for balance among self-family-work as he is hurtling through his development and I want to scream "slow down" knowing it is all so fleeting and that all that exists is now.
Your words melt over me, I absorb them, pull your heart toward mine seeking solace, comfort and shared understanding. I remind myself, often when the struggle has me feeling so worn and tired, there is only room for love....show up with love...there is no such thing as too much love.
I recently heard a description of grief as being all the love you were not able to give, share, express. My son, Axel, died too soon leaving me with so much love left to give him. I continue to love him and believe our energies dance with each other, a forever connection.
Thank you for sharing with us, Tara. And for the realness in what you share and the beauty in how you share it.
I am so sad that we belong to this same, hideous club. I am so sorry that your sweet boy no longer trods upon this earth. And I agree with you, your energies remain entangled, always and forever. Big hugs to you, Sheila.
Thank you, Tara. I wish you and your family peace, comfort and joy this Christmas. May we all be present to focus on the beauty and love that surrounds us. 💜
Reading this over my morning coffee and remembering those days when I couldn’t sit over a warm cup in the quiet dawn-too much mothering to do. I am with you Tara and all of you who have entered this mysterious phase of life. No one prepares us for it. You captured it’s pain, longing, and beauty perfectly.
Thank you, Shannon.
This is so beautifully written Tara… I have never lived a similar situation (I’m not even a mother yet) but I feel you so deeply…
I’ve been abused by my parents my whole childhood until I left at 19. Even if they are both deeply wounded and toxic creatures I still love them and I don’t know where that love is supposed to go now… they are definitely not dead but I had to mourn my parents since day 1 (even when I was abused and not 100% aware of what was going on I never felt like I had parents because I would never feel secure around them).
The love you have for your daughters gives me so much hope.
You are the mother (in so many ways) that I wish I had.
You are so generous…
And I don’t know for other people (I guess it depends if your parents were « good » parents) but I’d definitely need a mother in my life.
Thank you for everything you share with us Tara. In some strange way you’re like a mother to me… I learn so much from your loving, generous soul… <3
I feel this so much, as a fellow child of abusive parents (currently in the process of going no-contact). The grief is immense. I love Tara’s definition of “all the love we didn’t get to give them”. Reading this essay felt so painful for me — to see Tara’s beautiful love and respect and care for her children. My own experience is that the yearning and need for a mother never goes away, no matter what age.💔❤️
I feel you Sophia! I hope going no contact will help you heal. It definitely helped me tremendously. Sending you all my love. You are not alone ❤️
We have had very problematic relationships with family that we have had to end as well. It is incredibly painful, but I'm sure this is a decision you do not take lightly. I believe that we can end a relationship with another because of the pain it brings us, but still hold love for them. We don't, and really we shouldn't, hold malice towards them, that's just more anguish for our hearts. Instead, we "earn our way out" by attempts at conversation and reconciliation. If there is no desire for all parties to self-reflect, take responsibility for their actions, and move forward holding mutual respect in relationship, there comes a time when it can become impossible to maintain. A constant demand to sacrifice one's own peace and harmony in any relationship, despite our best efforts, is not sustainable, healthy, or reasonable.
Oh, Ava, I just want to rush into the little Ava's life and scoop her up and cover her in the love and security she deserved. I often felt alone and sad as a child and turned into a teenager that lashed out at the world and herself as response. I think now, in my old age (okay, not that old) I've finally been able to work through many old wounds and to appreciate the gifts in them. It probably sounds trite, but it's genuinely true. If there is anything I offer through my sharing that helps you to feel even a crumb of nurturing, I am satisfied. Big hugs to you.
Oh Tara, thank you for writing this. My kids are changing, fast, before my eyes, and I'm uneasily wondering what comes next, once my role of cook/chauffeur is obsolete. I miss the tiny bodies wanting to be held and read to - what to do with my primary skill set, which is "nurture?"
May the Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.
Thank you for the beautiful prayer, Karis. You will always have the gift to nurture, never let it fade. Find other ways to keep that beautiful trait alive. And even when your kids are jumbo, they will probably still love a cuddle or a back scratch from their mama.
Tara your writings are the most precious thing in my inbox. Thank you for every heart felt courageously excavated sentiment and realization shared. That kind of depth is hard won to say the least. I am not a mother except to myself but I have been mothered, well, by thousands, especially my own. And I needed every single one of them, still do, ha! more than ever in these times. And you are helping me see they needed me as much as I did them-I didn't really get that. I was very close to my Oma, my mother’s mother. And that has not changed, only grown deeper with her passing 23 years ago. It is in my most difficult moments I feel that deep pang of loss again, which I now understand as a visitation. I’ve been seeing her in my dreams lately. She always comes when I need her and all she wants to know is am I ok. To prepare myself. For another challenge. And that I can do it, what ever the ‘it’ that is coming is. And last night I dreamt of my paternal Oma for the first time … she talked about how hard it was to bear 4 children during wartimes and all the struggles to raise them. She was letting me know ‘to whom much is given, much is expected’. As I try to see into the future for how best to prepare for these incredible times I feel my mother and grandmothers around me, and more and more of my foremothers come into awareness. They never go away, and yes the love is always here and now. What else can be? You say you don't think she still needs a mother? I can assure you with everything I am made of she still does. It works both ways, you shared that today, how much mothers need their daughters and so it is. It does not end, yes it appears differently but no, it cannot be just a one way need and love. Please never stop loving or writing. Sending my prayers and love for you and your family.
Thank you, Sonja. Your words made me cry. All good, all needed. Our ancestors live on in our bones, we are made of them. What a beautiful gift, to be visited by these women now. Yes, we need them and they need us. Interconnected as all life is.
I've been reading you for a while, Tara, and always, your words linger. Your ideas and musings perculate in my mind long after I've read your last word. This reading, however, made me curse the coldness of my screen. I wanted more, even as tears rolled down my cheeks and blurred my vision, and my heart ached, I wanted more. I found myself wishing this was a conversation we were having, shared confessions quietly offered as omens into the fog of our steaming tea cups.
Thank you, Chantal. It's so nice to think of my words lingering in your world. I want more, too. And the conversation over steaming tea cups is something I will imagine until I can feel the heat on my nose.
Oof, Tara. I was going to wait to read your words until I had a quiet moment..but then I couldn’t wait and read them in the midst of the morning chaos with my 3 little ones. Your rawness, your immense love, has a way of instantly shifting my perspective. Thankful for you, as always.
Thank you, Laura. "Three little ones".. how grand. :). xo
Weeping.
It's been four years since my windshield crash and I'm still reeling from its impact. Mothering the ones here close to me while also constantly yearning for the one ripped from my embrace. Thank you for sharing part of your story.
Dear Ina, all of my love and sorrow to you and your family that live in the wake of your loss. I am so sorry. xo
Tara, I didn’t have a relationship with my mother like the one you describe, and I have chosen not to have children this time around the sun, but the truth of your words makes me ache deep in my heart. something that I haven’t specifically experienced but part of me knows. Your essay is often bring me to tears, but this one especially. I hope you also know that you are loved, and you are safe.
Thank you, Naomi. I do know that now, not always, but now. And you.. I wish you the same.
You are, also, safe. You are, also, loved.
Your daughters, all three, are lucky to have you as you. 💞
Thank you, Alli. I know this to be true. xo
There are no words to describe how much this has touched me. It’s raw and beautiful. Thank you x
Thank you, Tania. It's such a gift to me to hear that something I write touches another.
Wow!!! So beautiful!!!🥰
Once again Tara you have hit upon something near and dear to my heart. In my Palliative practice I use the word surrender often. Folks recoil from it, equating surrender with giving up victims of the “cancer survivor” rhetoric. Survivor equals winner so the dying are losers? Fuck that, we are all just living until we die. I encourage them to surrender to their situation but continue to have goals, dreams and hope even just let go of the battle narrative and simply be. I further this with discussing what healing truly is, healing is not simply being cured healing is living as fully as possible with the limitations of one’s current reality and sometimes healing is death.
Your wonderfully descriptive prose of all the different Taras is so spot on for me. A few years back I created a hook rug entitled “me myself and I”, it has eight versions of myself as very pivotal moments in my life. A young bride, an Army medic, a gardener, a nurse, a mother nursing an infant, a spiritual essence, a chubby polar dipper and a blonde (long held dream, which lasted less than 24 hours). I may have to revisit this subject matter in another rug when I have accumulated some more life experiences should I live long enough to do so. It was such a fun piece to hook and so enlightening…all the Lisa’s have played a role in build to current iteration.
Much love to you brave brilliant lady. In a world of plastic you are absolute salt of the earth🖤
I lost my little brother this spring to cancer and your words are so true. He became a heroic person, not in that he was "cured" but that life became so clear to him and he gave his love to all of us so freely. I can tell you are wonderful at the work you do, and it is so important. Blessings.
that's beautiful, Janene. What a gift he left with you all.
Lisa, I absolutely adore what you wrote about the people in your palliative practice. There is such a warfare rhetoric around chronic illness, cancer particularly. So, those that don't live are what? The losers? We are a strange lot, indeed.
I also love the idea of your rug. How fantastically creative! Thank you for such kind words.
Oh, Tara. Oh, Tara. Im in tears. I feel lost in this world. Every day I’m faced with yet another obstacle within to face. More ugly truth to be uncovered, and swallowed with bravery. Feels like I’m ricocheting from lesson to lesson. Thing I need to do, people I need to move on from, dignity I must have. Risking my well-being for the small chance of fixing someone who sees me as less-than-human.
Growing up is tougher than anything this world has to offer, and I am weary. But, like the stamina filled youngster I am, I get back up over and over again, fiercely searching for the next fight within. Thank you for writing pieces that help me get myself there.
Love,
Leeanna
Leeanna, I have long believed that more is asked of some of us than others and I do not believe in random chaos. I believe in divinity and purpose. I believe that when we inhabit hardship and pain, we are present to our purpose and the lessons being offered. It doesn't make it easy and who wouldn't want to coast for a little bit (I think we all usually get a bit of let-up every now and then). This is a wild and wooly time, but you are here now for a reason. Tenacity and grit when you need it, love and reflection in the wake. xo
Absolutely beautiful, Tara. I’m in tears.
Thank you, Angelica.