Thank you for this, your words are so true and real as always. Crying here and holding through the 4th Christmas without my first born son in the world, after 21 Christmases with him in it. It will never be the same ❣️🐾✨
When someone leaves this realm, I’ve found they end up showing up in a million places I’d not have expected. I hate that a loved one physically leaves this world but I love the warm hug sensation of feeling them everywhere. Sending you blessings.
“Grief shared is grief relieved.” I don’t know who first said this, but I pray this is at least a bit true for you. It takes courage even to share. To speak it out loud as if it could ever be truly said to its depth.
I will continue to pray over you, aching with you in my own (different) familiarity with grief, as so many others here will do as well.
Much of the illness in society can be traced to a lack of proper grieving and folk constantly telling us how grieving should be done. The worse of these instructions is telling us not to cry, not to mourn, not to wail or get out of body, and to only focus on what was good and pleasant from memory for some designated amount of appropriate time. Avoiding what comes up naturally in our grief breeds a sickness that will never help us to heal. And by heal we all know that grief doesn't go away; grief is only subject to the magic of time making its weight a little easier to carry as the seasons go on. When my Godmother died I heard the preacher say, "we don't have to super spiritualize our grief. We don't have to be so quick to say she is in a better place or that she is not suffering anymore in order to reconcile our loss. She is gone and it hurts [and we must acknowledge that]." His words changed me that day and I have allowed myself to fully express grief for every loss in my life since then.
Tara, once again, you have modeled a way to be for us, to allow grief, and we are so grateful to you for it. We mourn with you and hold a space for you to grieve. Blessings upon your and yours this season.
Thank you for sharing these words with us all, Tracie. I loved reading what your preacher said. It's so very true. Anyone that has a loss so profound has, in my way of thinking, has two choices: be with that pain or run from it. There are a myriad of manifestations of each, but I think we can condense it down to those two possibilities.
A love for a child is like no other love. How could their absence be like any other absence? I read somewhere that when a child dies, we are faced with a profound realty - the best of our lives is behind us. People squirm when I say that. Our culture likes to believe that bigger/better/shinier is always on its way. We live in the future (or the past), always chasing that carrot so we can be happy. But, the truth is, when a child dies, the best of our lives are behind us. There is no "best" in this new world. That doesn't mean there isn't beauty. That doesn't mean our lives are over. That doesn't mean there isn't warmth and love and things of meaning. It's just resolve. Resolve saturated in grief that will remain until my dying day.
There is no "best yet to come". Only acceptance of profound heartbreak and trying to figure out how to live in a world absent one of the great loves of my life. Or, I could run. I could look for "closure" and distraction and endless bandaids to not deal with such pain. I can't do that either. I can't pretend nothing is wrong. How could I dare? Pain is part of my love for her now. I won't run from that. I can endure it because I cannot separate them and I will not be without my love for her.
I don't know why I just wrote all that. Your comment made me feel like we were sitting across from each other on a couch and chatting. Thank you.❤️
We will gather. We will sup. We will open gifts and laugh. All while feeling guilty for finding joy while a giant part is missing. A son, at our house. A son, a daddy, a beloved husband. We will do our best to keep calm and carry on for the children.
Thank you for illustrating the loss using nature. If we follow her lead, we’ll know we can’t understand the whys but we can know we’re all part of the whole and will provide light in the end.
I wish you peace. I wish you loving memories to carry you all through. Also watch for the beautiful glints of gold at sunrise and sunset to remind you she’s there with you always.
I'm so truly sorry your son is a missing part of your life. Sending you love, Robyn. It's in moments like these where I wish I could walk into my computer and give you a hug, one broken heart to another. ❤️
Forget you we could never, your memory we endeavour
To keep reserved in our hearts forever
When we lose someone so close we want to scream and shout and tell the world there was this amazing person who had so much to give so much life to live so much love to give and receive and they are gone and that is what seems unfair. All that promise and the hope of what was to come.
“To god we belong and to him we must return”
Tara I think of you often wandering around your farm and dreaming of your lovely vibrant daughter and I send you a prayer from my broken heart to yours ❤️
It’s Christmas Eve and I started crying while cutting out fermented gingerbread cookies. It comes out of nowhere without warning. Fits of grief. I knew it wouldn’t be easy this year without my Dad.
Your description of nature and how she always persists is balm for my aching arms. They ache to hold his body one more time. He gave the best long hugs. I don’t get along well with my family, but he and I knew each other without needing words.
Somehow, while crying this evening I went for a distraction (internet) so I could return to help the kids with baking.. and I found your email with this beautiful writing. Thank you so much for sharing it. I hope it helps you as much as it helps me to read your words. Much love to you all this season and beyond ♥️
Sending so much love and comfort from my little homestead to yours. Tonight I light candles and sit with my own beloved ghosts...I will include another for yours. ❤️
There are pains that no mother should suffer. Empty chairs at the table being the greatest of pains. While my son is still living, he has been held in a horrible system for 21 years, since he was 17. The lost milestones that parents celebrate are gone with it. There have been years of tears and cries for justice but time and life trudge on. But they, our children, are still a gift. A precious life that we were given the opportunity to care for, mold and watch in awe as that life took shape. We still received a precious gift. May you hold that in your heart as you wipe your tears. All my love to you and yours.
Words fail me, and I know that any thing I could say is inadequate to soothe the pain you must be in. A parent should not bury their child, we are put on this earth to create, procreate, and fade away, leaving just our teaching and memories. Anything against that natural order brings angst in its shock, even before the pain of the loss itself. I wish you peace, as much love as your heart can handle, and moments where you can remember with joy.
I have been thinking of you during this season for these reasons. May Mother Pine hold you in her embrace. May you feel the comfort of the dust of your ancestors in her chilled scent.
Thank you for this, your words are so true and real as always. Crying here and holding through the 4th Christmas without my first born son in the world, after 21 Christmases with him in it. It will never be the same ❣️🐾✨
No, it never will. I am so deeply sorry that your son no longer trods along this earth, Nicola. Sending my love to you.
When someone leaves this realm, I’ve found they end up showing up in a million places I’d not have expected. I hate that a loved one physically leaves this world but I love the warm hug sensation of feeling them everywhere. Sending you blessings.
“Grief shared is grief relieved.” I don’t know who first said this, but I pray this is at least a bit true for you. It takes courage even to share. To speak it out loud as if it could ever be truly said to its depth.
I will continue to pray over you, aching with you in my own (different) familiarity with grief, as so many others here will do as well.
thank you, Sydney ❤️
Much of the illness in society can be traced to a lack of proper grieving and folk constantly telling us how grieving should be done. The worse of these instructions is telling us not to cry, not to mourn, not to wail or get out of body, and to only focus on what was good and pleasant from memory for some designated amount of appropriate time. Avoiding what comes up naturally in our grief breeds a sickness that will never help us to heal. And by heal we all know that grief doesn't go away; grief is only subject to the magic of time making its weight a little easier to carry as the seasons go on. When my Godmother died I heard the preacher say, "we don't have to super spiritualize our grief. We don't have to be so quick to say she is in a better place or that she is not suffering anymore in order to reconcile our loss. She is gone and it hurts [and we must acknowledge that]." His words changed me that day and I have allowed myself to fully express grief for every loss in my life since then.
Tara, once again, you have modeled a way to be for us, to allow grief, and we are so grateful to you for it. We mourn with you and hold a space for you to grieve. Blessings upon your and yours this season.
Thank you for sharing these words with us all, Tracie. I loved reading what your preacher said. It's so very true. Anyone that has a loss so profound has, in my way of thinking, has two choices: be with that pain or run from it. There are a myriad of manifestations of each, but I think we can condense it down to those two possibilities.
A love for a child is like no other love. How could their absence be like any other absence? I read somewhere that when a child dies, we are faced with a profound realty - the best of our lives is behind us. People squirm when I say that. Our culture likes to believe that bigger/better/shinier is always on its way. We live in the future (or the past), always chasing that carrot so we can be happy. But, the truth is, when a child dies, the best of our lives are behind us. There is no "best" in this new world. That doesn't mean there isn't beauty. That doesn't mean our lives are over. That doesn't mean there isn't warmth and love and things of meaning. It's just resolve. Resolve saturated in grief that will remain until my dying day.
There is no "best yet to come". Only acceptance of profound heartbreak and trying to figure out how to live in a world absent one of the great loves of my life. Or, I could run. I could look for "closure" and distraction and endless bandaids to not deal with such pain. I can't do that either. I can't pretend nothing is wrong. How could I dare? Pain is part of my love for her now. I won't run from that. I can endure it because I cannot separate them and I will not be without my love for her.
I don't know why I just wrote all that. Your comment made me feel like we were sitting across from each other on a couch and chatting. Thank you.❤️
☺️🤗
We will gather. We will sup. We will open gifts and laugh. All while feeling guilty for finding joy while a giant part is missing. A son, at our house. A son, a daddy, a beloved husband. We will do our best to keep calm and carry on for the children.
Thank you for illustrating the loss using nature. If we follow her lead, we’ll know we can’t understand the whys but we can know we’re all part of the whole and will provide light in the end.
I wish you peace. I wish you loving memories to carry you all through. Also watch for the beautiful glints of gold at sunrise and sunset to remind you she’s there with you always.
I'm so truly sorry your son is a missing part of your life. Sending you love, Robyn. It's in moments like these where I wish I could walk into my computer and give you a hug, one broken heart to another. ❤️
Thank you for sharing your heart, Tara.
If you see us living our lives without a care
Know that with you are our thoughts and prayer
Forget you we could never, your memory we endeavour
To keep reserved in our hearts forever
When we lose someone so close we want to scream and shout and tell the world there was this amazing person who had so much to give so much life to live so much love to give and receive and they are gone and that is what seems unfair. All that promise and the hope of what was to come.
“To god we belong and to him we must return”
Tara I think of you often wandering around your farm and dreaming of your lovely vibrant daughter and I send you a prayer from my broken heart to yours ❤️
Thank you for the prayer and the poetic words. I accept both with a grateful heart. ❤️
It’s Christmas Eve and I started crying while cutting out fermented gingerbread cookies. It comes out of nowhere without warning. Fits of grief. I knew it wouldn’t be easy this year without my Dad.
Your description of nature and how she always persists is balm for my aching arms. They ache to hold his body one more time. He gave the best long hugs. I don’t get along well with my family, but he and I knew each other without needing words.
Somehow, while crying this evening I went for a distraction (internet) so I could return to help the kids with baking.. and I found your email with this beautiful writing. Thank you so much for sharing it. I hope it helps you as much as it helps me to read your words. Much love to you all this season and beyond ♥️
I'm so sorry your dad has passed away, Suzanna. Thank you for your beautiful words. Big hugs to you. ❤️❤️
Oh the timing of this. Today is his celebration of life. Thank you Tara. I’m feeling the love ❤️
Sending so much love and comfort from my little homestead to yours. Tonight I light candles and sit with my own beloved ghosts...I will include another for yours. ❤️
Tara, you have been in my thoughts so much over the last few days. Sending love to you x
There are pains that no mother should suffer. Empty chairs at the table being the greatest of pains. While my son is still living, he has been held in a horrible system for 21 years, since he was 17. The lost milestones that parents celebrate are gone with it. There have been years of tears and cries for justice but time and life trudge on. But they, our children, are still a gift. A precious life that we were given the opportunity to care for, mold and watch in awe as that life took shape. We still received a precious gift. May you hold that in your heart as you wipe your tears. All my love to you and yours.
thank you, Bonnie, and to you in return❤️
I don’t have a way with words, but my heart is aching for you and your family tonight. I’m praying for peace and light for you and your family.
thank you, Angelica❤️
Merry Christmas to you and yours. Sending you all love and comfort and strength ❤
Thank you for your words Tara. Always so beautiful and humbling. You are a gift. Love to you and your family.
Words fail me, and I know that any thing I could say is inadequate to soothe the pain you must be in. A parent should not bury their child, we are put on this earth to create, procreate, and fade away, leaving just our teaching and memories. Anything against that natural order brings angst in its shock, even before the pain of the loss itself. I wish you peace, as much love as your heart can handle, and moments where you can remember with joy.
❤️❤️ thank you.
I have been thinking of you during this season for these reasons. May Mother Pine hold you in her embrace. May you feel the comfort of the dust of your ancestors in her chilled scent.