Tracie, your soulful words carry such depth and tenderness. Thank you for sharing them. Though I'm reading them two months later, they still resonate deeply. Holding space for you with warmth and gratitude for your honesty in navigating grief. 🙏❤️
Tender indeed, and also so full and quiet at once. Thank you for sharing this. I find all big grief is like this -- it's all the words and also, at times, none of the words or the right words to catch its essence. It's all the dis words you mention (disjointed, dysrhythmic) and more, and when I touch down in it, the only thing that always seems right is tenderness, so thank you for naming that. Sending love and more breathing space.
For the second time today, I’m taken back to the spring of 2017 - my mother’s last spring. My last with her. What I can say in this moment is that no matter the circumstance, we are never ready to lose our mommas. My grief continues. It is more gentle and I reach out to her spirit continually. I see her in my own hands and face. In the “things” that she gave me and those that were hers and now mine. Thank you for a moment to wonder why I’m pulled back to her twice today. The reason will become clear - your story indeed needs to be shared. When you are ready. And however you wish. Sending love to you.
Tracie, your soulful words carry such depth and tenderness. Thank you for sharing them. Though I'm reading them two months later, they still resonate deeply. Holding space for you with warmth and gratitude for your honesty in navigating grief. 🙏❤️
Thank you Deborah. I appreciate the kindness. It is certainly an uneven path.
♥️witnessing ♥️ and thank you for sharing
Thank you, my friend 🧡
Thank you for sharing, so gently yet precisely, your experience at this tender time. I send you a warm hug... with love!
Somehow, the precision was important, Andrea. Thank you for the hug ❤️
to tenderness, with tenderness, in tenderness... ohmygoodness yes to tenderness.
sitting with you.
It's nourishing to be accompanied like this, Michelle. 💜
Knowing the bare bones of being a motherless child casts us adrift.
Eventually our toes will touch a sandy bottom, near the shore.
But not yet.
We wait for one another, with a sun warmed towel.
Indeed it does. It's sustaining to know that warmth is waiting PattyMara.
Tender indeed, and also so full and quiet at once. Thank you for sharing this. I find all big grief is like this -- it's all the words and also, at times, none of the words or the right words to catch its essence. It's all the dis words you mention (disjointed, dysrhythmic) and more, and when I touch down in it, the only thing that always seems right is tenderness, so thank you for naming that. Sending love and more breathing space.
Thank you Caryn. It's complex and yet elemental all at once. Thank goodness for tenderness.
Thank you for sharing your tenderness ❤
Thank you for your support and encouragement ❤️
For the second time today, I’m taken back to the spring of 2017 - my mother’s last spring. My last with her. What I can say in this moment is that no matter the circumstance, we are never ready to lose our mommas. My grief continues. It is more gentle and I reach out to her spirit continually. I see her in my own hands and face. In the “things” that she gave me and those that were hers and now mine. Thank you for a moment to wonder why I’m pulled back to her twice today. The reason will become clear - your story indeed needs to be shared. When you are ready. And however you wish. Sending love to you.
I'm in tender company, Amy. ❤️