About fifty years ago when i was twelve, I bought my mother a very pretty, small red ruby paperweight. My mother died five years ago. Recently, I took the paperweight from her desk in the apartment where my father still lives and put it on my desk. It gives me some comfort to hold it tightly and look at it. That she kept it for so long is a testament to how much the gift meant to her (my interpretation).
I'm holding it now.
Also, if you ever have a football question, I'm here for you!
I’m so sorry Sara . Grieving happens in such strange ways and differently to each of us. I remember when my grandmom, whom I grew up with died, I couldn’t cry and thought there must be something, at least morally, wrong with me, till it all came out on the flight
Sarah Fay, I am literaly sitting on my recumbent bike pedaling off to foreign lands in my mind where a few things still count for something - and I'm listening to the Pink Floyd album Wish You Were Here. "Shine on you crazy diamond - remember when you were young and you shined like the sun."
Thank you for sharing this poignant piece. My dear mother just had her second knee replacement a few days back ~ 82. Bless her as she is good spirits. I'm hoping and not hoping that she is and is not doing it on my account. I rather like your thoughts on the similarities and differences betweet grief and depression.
I am sorry for your loss, of course, and yet it is nice to hear that you are immersing yourself in what both you and your mother love, yourself and moving forward as best you have learned to do reaching for what you want.
love the honesty and energy of this -- this line: "it’s not coming from a place of avoiding my mother’s death and the loss." felt so crucial -- hope the relaunch is amazing!
Thanks for sharing Sarah. I am very familiar with grief and mental illness so this essay hit home for me. I especially appreciated the connection you made between depression and grief, the hollowness of each, but in different ways. I guess I had experienced that before but not made the connection until reading this. Sort of an "aha!" moment.
I don't meet any of the criteria on your list for your relaunch but my door is always open if you would like to write a guest post or do an author interview. I would be more than happy to share you and your story with my readers.
Also, your book is on my list to buy as soon as I get through this enormous stack sitting next to my chair.
Sarah- in doses-titration over immortal time/ is how I experience grief. A song, an object, a bird or a dream will spill my grief - without my permission. It happens when it happens. Your essay is heart wrenchingly gorgeous. I hate that which informed it- but it’s beautiful nonetheless. I can’t respond to your appeal for help with your book relaunch / but I can purchase it. For context- I’m 66 years old. I have lost and gained through death, loss of friendships, loss of intimate partner relationships, gains in understanding my life, how to love, how to hold dear the folx in my life and the memories of those who are gone. I love how you have connected us all through your writing, in solidarity, with shoulders shaking up and down.
There's no road map with grief. That distinction you made between grief and depression - so helpful to point out. Especially for those of us who have spent time with both.
Thanks for sharing all this here. I especially appreciate how reading this made me think about the four things my dad loved most about me. I'm coming up on 5 years since losing him in physical form and I still fall down from time to time from the grief.
Funny, I wrote about grief this week, too. How, for me, it mimics in many ways the recovery process in addiction. That same texturization, like you say. At the end of the day, people are afraid to talk about all three (addiction, grief, depression). I'm so grateful you speak up and write books about mental health. And bring it here. When people are brave enough to say these things out loud, it leaves others saying, simply, "WOW." Just like your mom would.
It’s been 9 years this week since my son died, and I’ve been reflecting on how it still hurts so much but very differently from early on. I’m also realizing how much I didn’t truly grieve my wonderful parents, who died in consecutive years right after my son. I’m going to focus on the 4 things they each loved most about me… very helpful. Thanks for your enlightening post.
Lost my mom on November 8 and my tears are because we were not close. We could never seem to bridge the gap between us. This is what I grieve. And now I have a similar gap with my daughter. We’re just such different people! I am hard-pressed to find four things that my mother liked about me because she never told me. It feels like such a colossal waste of a relationship. I am so happy your mother saw you ❤️ Isn’t that what we all want and need, in the end? Thank you for this.
Sarah, the way you wrote your grief story here carries a particular power in its vulnerability. I spent ten years as a grief author and traveled throughout the nation speaking to various groups and individuals about grief.
You are so right that those who read about grief are the bereaved. But the things is, every one of us grieves. There are myriad losses that happen to us all the time, and we grieve for them. We just don't necessarily recognize it as such.
Also, the distinction you make between grief and depression is crucial to the conversations you're having and are seeking to have. I wrote about that, too, because when my daughter Sarah was born with a rare craniofacial condition, my PCP wanted to slap me on antidepressants, but it didn't feel right to me. It felt like something other than depression, and I was right. As are you.
Every time you write these stories, I feel a closeness to your mom through your expression of love and in the special relationship you shared with her. I think we often feel closest to those who walk with us in our darkest times, as your mom so clearly did with you, and I agree with you that she remains - in some form - with you even now.
I love your words and your emotional truth. You are a talented writer. Thank you for sharing them. I am deeply sorry for your loss. My mom is currently in hospice. She is my rock. I teach writing as well.
Congratulations on the reviews of your book. I bought a copy. I love that you are relaunching it.
When a clear vision of the person who passed away suddenly appears in your mind, and you feel a deep mourning, it could be alleviated if you thought about that moment as a gift of sudden unite with this person, and you can smile through the tears at a vision in front of you and tell loudly or whispering: "I love you!" You send this person a message, and you suddenly feel like you are embraced together, and this brings relief.
Sarah, I am sitting alone in my living room, in my favorite chair, just trying to catch up with emails and what might be new followers or subscribers to my Substack (there were both-a few, but they are there). Then, I came upon this beautiful testimony to love, grief, sadness, joy and any other possible emotion that might be coursing through your psyche, heart, body, mind. You asses them, bravely, as you experience them.
I think, specifically because you do do that, you will heal. It will be gradual, but I sense that you already know that. I know from too much experience, in my long life, that grief work can bring you from the sadness you now feel, to a potentially happier and more fulfilled person than you might imagine.
It is probably not insignificant that two of my first Substacks are about grieving the loss of my husband, whom I loved but with whom I had a mixed relationship. I feel now, five years later, as though I am finally landing. And you are a part of that landing, with your class, writing, and the community you have built around you. Thank you for opening that up to us. We are all healing—from something. May you feel the blessings of your work, the joy of your community and the fulness of heart that you deserve.
Just emailed you a possible connection 👍🏼
About fifty years ago when i was twelve, I bought my mother a very pretty, small red ruby paperweight. My mother died five years ago. Recently, I took the paperweight from her desk in the apartment where my father still lives and put it on my desk. It gives me some comfort to hold it tightly and look at it. That she kept it for so long is a testament to how much the gift meant to her (my interpretation).
I'm holding it now.
Also, if you ever have a football question, I'm here for you!
I will follow up with you on the relaunch.
I’m so sorry Sara . Grieving happens in such strange ways and differently to each of us. I remember when my grandmom, whom I grew up with died, I couldn’t cry and thought there must be something, at least morally, wrong with me, till it all came out on the flight
I just wrote this with you in mind, thinking what I’d tell my own mother.
Oh it’s not letting me post an images
Sarah Fay, I am literaly sitting on my recumbent bike pedaling off to foreign lands in my mind where a few things still count for something - and I'm listening to the Pink Floyd album Wish You Were Here. "Shine on you crazy diamond - remember when you were young and you shined like the sun."
Thank you for sharing this poignant piece. My dear mother just had her second knee replacement a few days back ~ 82. Bless her as she is good spirits. I'm hoping and not hoping that she is and is not doing it on my account. I rather like your thoughts on the similarities and differences betweet grief and depression.
I am sorry for your loss, of course, and yet it is nice to hear that you are immersing yourself in what both you and your mother love, yourself and moving forward as best you have learned to do reaching for what you want.
love the honesty and energy of this -- this line: "it’s not coming from a place of avoiding my mother’s death and the loss." felt so crucial -- hope the relaunch is amazing!
Emailed you. 🤍🤍🤍
Thanks for sharing Sarah. I am very familiar with grief and mental illness so this essay hit home for me. I especially appreciated the connection you made between depression and grief, the hollowness of each, but in different ways. I guess I had experienced that before but not made the connection until reading this. Sort of an "aha!" moment.
I don't meet any of the criteria on your list for your relaunch but my door is always open if you would like to write a guest post or do an author interview. I would be more than happy to share you and your story with my readers.
Also, your book is on my list to buy as soon as I get through this enormous stack sitting next to my chair.
Sarah- in doses-titration over immortal time/ is how I experience grief. A song, an object, a bird or a dream will spill my grief - without my permission. It happens when it happens. Your essay is heart wrenchingly gorgeous. I hate that which informed it- but it’s beautiful nonetheless. I can’t respond to your appeal for help with your book relaunch / but I can purchase it. For context- I’m 66 years old. I have lost and gained through death, loss of friendships, loss of intimate partner relationships, gains in understanding my life, how to love, how to hold dear the folx in my life and the memories of those who are gone. I love how you have connected us all through your writing, in solidarity, with shoulders shaking up and down.
There's no road map with grief. That distinction you made between grief and depression - so helpful to point out. Especially for those of us who have spent time with both.
Thanks for sharing all this here. I especially appreciate how reading this made me think about the four things my dad loved most about me. I'm coming up on 5 years since losing him in physical form and I still fall down from time to time from the grief.
Funny, I wrote about grief this week, too. How, for me, it mimics in many ways the recovery process in addiction. That same texturization, like you say. At the end of the day, people are afraid to talk about all three (addiction, grief, depression). I'm so grateful you speak up and write books about mental health. And bring it here. When people are brave enough to say these things out loud, it leaves others saying, simply, "WOW." Just like your mom would.
It’s been 9 years this week since my son died, and I’ve been reflecting on how it still hurts so much but very differently from early on. I’m also realizing how much I didn’t truly grieve my wonderful parents, who died in consecutive years right after my son. I’m going to focus on the 4 things they each loved most about me… very helpful. Thanks for your enlightening post.
Lost my mom on November 8 and my tears are because we were not close. We could never seem to bridge the gap between us. This is what I grieve. And now I have a similar gap with my daughter. We’re just such different people! I am hard-pressed to find four things that my mother liked about me because she never told me. It feels like such a colossal waste of a relationship. I am so happy your mother saw you ❤️ Isn’t that what we all want and need, in the end? Thank you for this.
Sarah, the way you wrote your grief story here carries a particular power in its vulnerability. I spent ten years as a grief author and traveled throughout the nation speaking to various groups and individuals about grief.
You are so right that those who read about grief are the bereaved. But the things is, every one of us grieves. There are myriad losses that happen to us all the time, and we grieve for them. We just don't necessarily recognize it as such.
Also, the distinction you make between grief and depression is crucial to the conversations you're having and are seeking to have. I wrote about that, too, because when my daughter Sarah was born with a rare craniofacial condition, my PCP wanted to slap me on antidepressants, but it didn't feel right to me. It felt like something other than depression, and I was right. As are you.
Every time you write these stories, I feel a closeness to your mom through your expression of love and in the special relationship you shared with her. I think we often feel closest to those who walk with us in our darkest times, as your mom so clearly did with you, and I agree with you that she remains - in some form - with you even now.
I love your words and your emotional truth. You are a talented writer. Thank you for sharing them. I am deeply sorry for your loss. My mom is currently in hospice. She is my rock. I teach writing as well.
Congratulations on the reviews of your book. I bought a copy. I love that you are relaunching it.
Just finished reading Pathological a few weeks ago. Really enjoyed it, and saw myself in a lot of it.
When a clear vision of the person who passed away suddenly appears in your mind, and you feel a deep mourning, it could be alleviated if you thought about that moment as a gift of sudden unite with this person, and you can smile through the tears at a vision in front of you and tell loudly or whispering: "I love you!" You send this person a message, and you suddenly feel like you are embraced together, and this brings relief.
Sarah, I am sitting alone in my living room, in my favorite chair, just trying to catch up with emails and what might be new followers or subscribers to my Substack (there were both-a few, but they are there). Then, I came upon this beautiful testimony to love, grief, sadness, joy and any other possible emotion that might be coursing through your psyche, heart, body, mind. You asses them, bravely, as you experience them.
I think, specifically because you do do that, you will heal. It will be gradual, but I sense that you already know that. I know from too much experience, in my long life, that grief work can bring you from the sadness you now feel, to a potentially happier and more fulfilled person than you might imagine.
It is probably not insignificant that two of my first Substacks are about grieving the loss of my husband, whom I loved but with whom I had a mixed relationship. I feel now, five years later, as though I am finally landing. And you are a part of that landing, with your class, writing, and the community you have built around you. Thank you for opening that up to us. We are all healing—from something. May you feel the blessings of your work, the joy of your community and the fulness of heart that you deserve.
Ann
Thank you.