On June 20th my Mom and brother were murdered. We've had so much love and support and help and I so appreciate it but in the midst of it I feel so alone, and I don't want them to understand, that would mean another person was stolen. But they want me to be okay and I won't pretend that I am nor compress myself down to just sadness because I'm not just sad. Thank you for your honest words, I do feel a little less alone.
Oh, dear Emily. I am so utterly and deeply sorry for such a profound loss. Your mother and your brother. It's tragic. I wish I could stand with you and just hug you. It seems so much better a response than trying to find the words. I know there are no words. Only love, and that I send you.
I have read so many books on death and the last year. If you think you might want to, I would highly recommend reading two of them whenever you are up to it. Once is called, "Bearing the Unbearable" and the other is "It's Ok that you're not Ok". Maybe neither is for right now, maybe they are. You know that better than I do.
Of course you feel alone. Grief can be so utterly isolating. I'm so glad you refuse to pretend you're okay. Some people just won't be able to handle that. I sometimes wonder if pretending is the cost of being in a relationship with someone, who is comforting whom?
Wow Tara, this writing is magic. It's truth, it's so full of feeling it's tangible and it just breaks me wide open. I loved this so much, thank you for the time you put into this and for being the raw you, that is the only reason I am here.
I lost my Dad a couple of months ago. I was with him for his last 4 days and his final breaths. It has changed me yet I am still me but I'm getting to know this new me too. Witnessing his death at home surrounded by loved ones was the most heartbreaking and beautiful moment I've experienced. What an honour to it was to be by his side. I am still processing it all but reading your words confirms I am on the right track. Not fake smiles here, just stories with an open heart and letting the tears flow. We are truly blessed with this life and all it's crazy twists and turns. I will keep honouring that with my authenticity.
I'm so sorry that your father died, Sophie. I deeply respect and admire the resolve you had to be with him, to witness his death. Many can't bear it and I think they lose so much in the turning away. What a beautiful gift to give him - to be there wholly and truly. Thank you for sharing that with us.
This is my favorite newsletter on Substack. Whenever you get this personal and raw, I feel a bit of trepidation when I start reading, like I'm about to go underwater and will need to hold my breath for far longer than I'm comfortable with. But that's a thread running through all of your work: face the darkness and endure the struggle, because it's always just around the bend, and we'Il always be better for having done so willingly. As always, thank you for your writing and your perspective.
This might just be the most wonderful comment I've ever received. Thank you, Branden. You really got me pondering since I read this earlier. I was thinking about how when I go to write something like this, I feel that same trepidation. I often say a little prayer before I write and ask for the courage to say things as honestly as I can muster.
I ask a lot of my readers, sometimes. I get that. I get that sometimes it can be a lot. I like that, though. I like that there are people, like you, willing to take on that load, bear a little of it with me, and see where we end up. I am grateful for that. Grateful for your kind words. Grateful that you continue on, despite the discomfort. That means so much to me. Thank you.
Thank you for this, Tara. I once sat with a therapist who let me laugh and weep loudly, at the same time, gently murmuring to me that I must ride through all of it, not avoid it. Now, many years later as I face hard, deeply painful things, I'm doing my best to ride through all of it. My very young children are watching me. "Are you happy mama?" They ask me. "I'm happy and sad but we can be both," I answer them. "Melancholy is the happiness of being sad." -Victor Hugo.
Such wisdom here, Tara. We’ve had recent family deaths—including one too young to die in a fatal accident. Those closest are still reeling from the outcome. Of course they are. And these personal losses are compounded by all the losses of these past, three now, years. It can be and is overwhelming. But, as you note, we must strive to be whole, to embrace the reality, and to move forward, however hard that is. I’ll save this piece you wrote and send it to a family member when the time is a bit better for her to read it.
It's so true, Louisa, it is overwhelming and can all feel too much. Let it overwhelm. Let it come as it does and bring us into the depths of misery, squinting up at the sky for the tiniest blade of sunlight. All of it. It's so much and so rough and hard and sweet and soft. Nobody should die young. People die young every moment of every day. Somehow life reminds us that we are not protected if we want to live at all. I'm truly sorry for the loss of. your beloveds.
You are such a love. One of the things I am doing to cope is working outside in my gardens as often as I can—and I’m planting more and more FLOWERS. Outside is good. And I often wear ear phones and listen to music I love—singing along at the top of my lungs. Working with my hands gives me peace: sewing (I quilt), cooking, gardening, and so on.
My heart. It aches deeply and also rejoices in your words. As we approach our Jake's 30th birthday, celebrating this Saturday without him "here"; on the heels of my Dad's 4 year anniversary of passing; and creeping up to Jake's 4th year being gone...
There is the hugest swirl of emotions that you have so eloquently put into words, as if you've crawled into my psyche.
Thank you for today's words. Thank you for words of hope and affirmation that I am not alone in my grief and conversely - my happiness. Thank you. 💛
Oh, Jeanie, those are hard dates all layered one on top of the other. What is there to do but be there for it? To endure, to look for the connections, to remember, to be here for what is here now, to learn, to love our beautiful babies. Much love to you, Jeanie.
Thank you for being so willing to lay the subject of loss and grief out on the table. It is not possible to live life without experiencing these things. It is not. Our technology age has buried so much of our humanness. We have done away with the wailing women, the community healers that ushered in life and released life. We don't have the old mother's that sat with the wounded in the village. And we are worse off for it.
While we cannot skate through this life unscathed, We can sit with one another and offer a hand, a tissue or silent support. Much love to you all.
Beautifully said, Bonnie. To offer a hand, an ear, just an open heart. Even just to sit with another and endure the sharing of their pain is the most profound and connecting of gifts we can offer. xo
Death. It’s so raw. My husband, David, died September 14, 2009 and I still cry. Life is full and empty. Full with new life he will not experience and joy because I do. Empty because I get to experience the joy alone. Alone is ok because I’m a loner. But am I a loner because of my loss? I’m full of thoughts but not a lot of answers. I’m thankful for God who reminds me that I’m a truly never alone and I will, God willing, see David again.
I'm sorry your husband, David, died. It seems that the more people I speak to who have profound loss of a loved one, the more I understand how common it is for people to tend to become more insular. Troy (my husband) and I have found that the slow and the still holds so much more draw for us now. We don't much want to be entertained. In some ways it's like a different world. Maybe that's because our hearts just aren't the same. You will see David again. I will see my beautiful girl again. I have absolute faith and knowing in that. Love to you sweet, Lemmincakes :) xo
Brilliant and poignant piece. I'm reminded of a couple of quotes:
"But if to live, we have to be numb, I'd rather know the pain" - Rise Against
"...the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes 'Awww!'" - Jack Kerouac
Though, on balance, I understand that for most there is a point where hardship and grief prove an insurmountable peak, as well.
My God, Tara, this is the most evocative and true thing I have ever read. Though I have known grief, the terror of losing a child or my husband is so big, I feel I have no choice but to turn away and hide. Thank you for this reminder that there is no hiding from life. It is here in all its intensity. I don't know how one goes on living after a loss like yours, but you have shown me that it is possible to be just as a alive before as after. Thank you for taking your agony and so beautifully transmuting it into a gift for us readers. It won't be forgotten.
Thank you so much, Amy. What generous words to give me. Of course you would turn away from the idea of losing your great loves. Of course! And so you should. It is too much. Just love them with abandon in the moments you have and let only the softest whisper of death to walk with you. Not as a threat, as a friend that reminds us that we are mortal and life is now and only now. xo
And now I will always think "plastic smile" when I'm socializing.
Your words remind me of something I ponder often, that without seeing the ugliness we cannot truly appreciate the beauty. Without undergoing agony and hardships, the happy or luxurious moments are somewhat lost or undervalued. Without death, we would not know the need to live--truly live.
Although, sometimes the loss is so great that people never live again, they just exist. That makes me question my last line on death. Always questioning.
Honestly, it's kind of a fucked up system when you stop to think about it, but I can understand why it is the way it is. It's just not always easy to accept. 🙏💜
I've found peace through humility around the workings of this universe. I don't know why. I can't know why. I don't need to know why. Still, I have faith in the rightness and wisdom even when it *feels* ghastly and wildly wicked. Even then.
You said it so well, Annie. I know so many people living as if there is life eternal, taking each day with such carelessness, throwing away too much because they dare not allow themselves to feel what lays just below the armour. I don't want that. I want to honour this precious gift of a beating heart and the love it gives and receives. xo
“To know life as it’s given, we must be courageous enough to be there as it comes.” This is it. I had to stop and read this essay multiple times. As I finished it, I was driving with my 2 teenage sons and I burst into tears. So grateful that I am still here to experience the duality of “good” and “bad”. Thank you and blessings on blessings!
How did you come to write so poignantly about topics that are so brutally emotional? I struggle to hold my intent when emotion drags me forward.
Thank you for writing about the pain. You are right in your observations about how saturated life becomes amidst grief. Every kiss of moonlight inspires dance, and every rainy day can prompt tears. It can be a challenge to realize that ultimately, opening yourself up to more love and pain is the best way to help an aching heart. I hope that your writing will help other aching souls come to that realization sooner than they otherwise would have.
Thank you, Magan. You said it beautifully yourself. I write what I know, I suppose. Lessons shared with me from bigger places. I'm just a lowly scribe. xo
I find myself running from pain constantly but it is so true that the most immense joy comes from pain and hardship. Like you said, a day of hard work makes rest all the more enjoyable. I think of giving birth. Especially with my second child I labored so hard but I’ve serious never felt such a level of joy and relief the second he was born.
Birth is the ultimate analogy for the entirety of the whole universe - death/birth, pain/pleasure, despair/elation. We all run from pain, I think that's human. But I also think if we observe ourselves, and try to just sit in it for awhile, that muscle strengthens. Soon we learn that there are treasures there that just don't come with the easy, joyful bits. Every worthy thing I have ever learned has come wrapped in discomfort, challenges, and pain.
On June 20th my Mom and brother were murdered. We've had so much love and support and help and I so appreciate it but in the midst of it I feel so alone, and I don't want them to understand, that would mean another person was stolen. But they want me to be okay and I won't pretend that I am nor compress myself down to just sadness because I'm not just sad. Thank you for your honest words, I do feel a little less alone.
Oh, dear Emily. I am so utterly and deeply sorry for such a profound loss. Your mother and your brother. It's tragic. I wish I could stand with you and just hug you. It seems so much better a response than trying to find the words. I know there are no words. Only love, and that I send you.
I have read so many books on death and the last year. If you think you might want to, I would highly recommend reading two of them whenever you are up to it. Once is called, "Bearing the Unbearable" and the other is "It's Ok that you're not Ok". Maybe neither is for right now, maybe they are. You know that better than I do.
Of course you feel alone. Grief can be so utterly isolating. I'm so glad you refuse to pretend you're okay. Some people just won't be able to handle that. I sometimes wonder if pretending is the cost of being in a relationship with someone, who is comforting whom?
I send you my love and my prayers.
Tara, have you read Signs by Laura Lynne Jackson? I found it to be super helpful following my mom's crossing to the other side....
Wow Tara, this writing is magic. It's truth, it's so full of feeling it's tangible and it just breaks me wide open. I loved this so much, thank you for the time you put into this and for being the raw you, that is the only reason I am here.
I lost my Dad a couple of months ago. I was with him for his last 4 days and his final breaths. It has changed me yet I am still me but I'm getting to know this new me too. Witnessing his death at home surrounded by loved ones was the most heartbreaking and beautiful moment I've experienced. What an honour to it was to be by his side. I am still processing it all but reading your words confirms I am on the right track. Not fake smiles here, just stories with an open heart and letting the tears flow. We are truly blessed with this life and all it's crazy twists and turns. I will keep honouring that with my authenticity.
Much love to you and your heart xx
I'm so sorry that your father died, Sophie. I deeply respect and admire the resolve you had to be with him, to witness his death. Many can't bear it and I think they lose so much in the turning away. What a beautiful gift to give him - to be there wholly and truly. Thank you for sharing that with us.
This is my favorite newsletter on Substack. Whenever you get this personal and raw, I feel a bit of trepidation when I start reading, like I'm about to go underwater and will need to hold my breath for far longer than I'm comfortable with. But that's a thread running through all of your work: face the darkness and endure the struggle, because it's always just around the bend, and we'Il always be better for having done so willingly. As always, thank you for your writing and your perspective.
This might just be the most wonderful comment I've ever received. Thank you, Branden. You really got me pondering since I read this earlier. I was thinking about how when I go to write something like this, I feel that same trepidation. I often say a little prayer before I write and ask for the courage to say things as honestly as I can muster.
I ask a lot of my readers, sometimes. I get that. I get that sometimes it can be a lot. I like that, though. I like that there are people, like you, willing to take on that load, bear a little of it with me, and see where we end up. I am grateful for that. Grateful for your kind words. Grateful that you continue on, despite the discomfort. That means so much to me. Thank you.
What a great analogy. Really good thoughts - thank you!
Thank you for this, Tara. I once sat with a therapist who let me laugh and weep loudly, at the same time, gently murmuring to me that I must ride through all of it, not avoid it. Now, many years later as I face hard, deeply painful things, I'm doing my best to ride through all of it. My very young children are watching me. "Are you happy mama?" They ask me. "I'm happy and sad but we can be both," I answer them. "Melancholy is the happiness of being sad." -Victor Hugo.
That's a beautiful gift to give your children, Sarah. We can be happy and sad, both. It's probably more real than anything.
Such wisdom here, Tara. We’ve had recent family deaths—including one too young to die in a fatal accident. Those closest are still reeling from the outcome. Of course they are. And these personal losses are compounded by all the losses of these past, three now, years. It can be and is overwhelming. But, as you note, we must strive to be whole, to embrace the reality, and to move forward, however hard that is. I’ll save this piece you wrote and send it to a family member when the time is a bit better for her to read it.
It's so true, Louisa, it is overwhelming and can all feel too much. Let it overwhelm. Let it come as it does and bring us into the depths of misery, squinting up at the sky for the tiniest blade of sunlight. All of it. It's so much and so rough and hard and sweet and soft. Nobody should die young. People die young every moment of every day. Somehow life reminds us that we are not protected if we want to live at all. I'm truly sorry for the loss of. your beloveds.
You are such a love. One of the things I am doing to cope is working outside in my gardens as often as I can—and I’m planting more and more FLOWERS. Outside is good. And I often wear ear phones and listen to music I love—singing along at the top of my lungs. Working with my hands gives me peace: sewing (I quilt), cooking, gardening, and so on.
My heart. It aches deeply and also rejoices in your words. As we approach our Jake's 30th birthday, celebrating this Saturday without him "here"; on the heels of my Dad's 4 year anniversary of passing; and creeping up to Jake's 4th year being gone...
There is the hugest swirl of emotions that you have so eloquently put into words, as if you've crawled into my psyche.
Thank you for today's words. Thank you for words of hope and affirmation that I am not alone in my grief and conversely - my happiness. Thank you. 💛
Sending you love Tara. Always.
Oh, Jeanie, those are hard dates all layered one on top of the other. What is there to do but be there for it? To endure, to look for the connections, to remember, to be here for what is here now, to learn, to love our beautiful babies. Much love to you, Jeanie.
Thank you for being so willing to lay the subject of loss and grief out on the table. It is not possible to live life without experiencing these things. It is not. Our technology age has buried so much of our humanness. We have done away with the wailing women, the community healers that ushered in life and released life. We don't have the old mother's that sat with the wounded in the village. And we are worse off for it.
While we cannot skate through this life unscathed, We can sit with one another and offer a hand, a tissue or silent support. Much love to you all.
Beautifully said, Bonnie. To offer a hand, an ear, just an open heart. Even just to sit with another and endure the sharing of their pain is the most profound and connecting of gifts we can offer. xo
Beautiful thoughts. Thank you and I agree!
Death. It’s so raw. My husband, David, died September 14, 2009 and I still cry. Life is full and empty. Full with new life he will not experience and joy because I do. Empty because I get to experience the joy alone. Alone is ok because I’m a loner. But am I a loner because of my loss? I’m full of thoughts but not a lot of answers. I’m thankful for God who reminds me that I’m a truly never alone and I will, God willing, see David again.
I'm sorry your husband, David, died. It seems that the more people I speak to who have profound loss of a loved one, the more I understand how common it is for people to tend to become more insular. Troy (my husband) and I have found that the slow and the still holds so much more draw for us now. We don't much want to be entertained. In some ways it's like a different world. Maybe that's because our hearts just aren't the same. You will see David again. I will see my beautiful girl again. I have absolute faith and knowing in that. Love to you sweet, Lemmincakes :) xo
This is a very powerful post. I pray you do indeed see your husband again someday.
Brilliant and poignant piece. I'm reminded of a couple of quotes:
"But if to live, we have to be numb, I'd rather know the pain" - Rise Against
"...the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes 'Awww!'" - Jack Kerouac
Though, on balance, I understand that for most there is a point where hardship and grief prove an insurmountable peak, as well.
https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/jJ5yf
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing those quotes and the link to the song. So very honest. To live numb seems a fate too awful to bear.
Such a wonderful writer. Thank you, and thank you to Heather Heying for referring you.
Thank you, Chimanuka. I love Heather. I'm so glad you found me through her.
My God, Tara, this is the most evocative and true thing I have ever read. Though I have known grief, the terror of losing a child or my husband is so big, I feel I have no choice but to turn away and hide. Thank you for this reminder that there is no hiding from life. It is here in all its intensity. I don't know how one goes on living after a loss like yours, but you have shown me that it is possible to be just as a alive before as after. Thank you for taking your agony and so beautifully transmuting it into a gift for us readers. It won't be forgotten.
Thank you so much, Amy. What generous words to give me. Of course you would turn away from the idea of losing your great loves. Of course! And so you should. It is too much. Just love them with abandon in the moments you have and let only the softest whisper of death to walk with you. Not as a threat, as a friend that reminds us that we are mortal and life is now and only now. xo
YES- 100% Yes!
And now I will always think "plastic smile" when I'm socializing.
Your words remind me of something I ponder often, that without seeing the ugliness we cannot truly appreciate the beauty. Without undergoing agony and hardships, the happy or luxurious moments are somewhat lost or undervalued. Without death, we would not know the need to live--truly live.
Although, sometimes the loss is so great that people never live again, they just exist. That makes me question my last line on death. Always questioning.
Honestly, it's kind of a fucked up system when you stop to think about it, but I can understand why it is the way it is. It's just not always easy to accept. 🙏💜
I've found peace through humility around the workings of this universe. I don't know why. I can't know why. I don't need to know why. Still, I have faith in the rightness and wisdom even when it *feels* ghastly and wildly wicked. Even then.
You said it so well, Annie. I know so many people living as if there is life eternal, taking each day with such carelessness, throwing away too much because they dare not allow themselves to feel what lays just below the armour. I don't want that. I want to honour this precious gift of a beating heart and the love it gives and receives. xo
“To know life as it’s given, we must be courageous enough to be there as it comes.” This is it. I had to stop and read this essay multiple times. As I finished it, I was driving with my 2 teenage sons and I burst into tears. So grateful that I am still here to experience the duality of “good” and “bad”. Thank you and blessings on blessings!
Thank you so much, Sophia. xo
How did you come to write so poignantly about topics that are so brutally emotional? I struggle to hold my intent when emotion drags me forward.
Thank you for writing about the pain. You are right in your observations about how saturated life becomes amidst grief. Every kiss of moonlight inspires dance, and every rainy day can prompt tears. It can be a challenge to realize that ultimately, opening yourself up to more love and pain is the best way to help an aching heart. I hope that your writing will help other aching souls come to that realization sooner than they otherwise would have.
Thank you, Magan. You said it beautifully yourself. I write what I know, I suppose. Lessons shared with me from bigger places. I'm just a lowly scribe. xo
I find myself running from pain constantly but it is so true that the most immense joy comes from pain and hardship. Like you said, a day of hard work makes rest all the more enjoyable. I think of giving birth. Especially with my second child I labored so hard but I’ve serious never felt such a level of joy and relief the second he was born.
Birth is the ultimate analogy for the entirety of the whole universe - death/birth, pain/pleasure, despair/elation. We all run from pain, I think that's human. But I also think if we observe ourselves, and try to just sit in it for awhile, that muscle strengthens. Soon we learn that there are treasures there that just don't come with the easy, joyful bits. Every worthy thing I have ever learned has come wrapped in discomfort, challenges, and pain.