Jane, I doubt I will read a more powerful, moving text this year (and you know I read omnivorously). So much to say but for now just one thing - do remember that for so many of us you are Tchaikovsky's nephew, a light in the gloom and a reason to smile on the greyest of days. With much love, Seamus
Jane, this is such a beautiful articulation of fading figures and those in the shallows of depression, and trying to figure out how to hold on to what’s there even as pieces get fuzzy and melt away. We have to remember that nature will bring the snowflake back, and hopefully in a more solid form, at least for a while. My dad was diagnosed with dementia this week. We all knew that of course he had dementia and that did nothing to quell the deep well of tears and grief that rose up. You have just given me words to describe the pain of it. I always keep your blogs so that I may learn from and find comfort in them when time permits. So, so grateful to have you as a friend, and honored to receive your own reflections on such deeply personal and yet often universal experiences. Please check that you’re pouring this same love and grace into yourself.
You are an amazing, deep person and great writer. Once again, thank you for sharing. My uncle just lost my aunt and your experience with your dad is reminding me how hard grief can be. It is reminding me to be softer with him. And how I wish I had been softer with my mom when she was grieving.
"And so I unzip my life, and pour it onto the page, and hope for the best." Thank you for inviting me to experience these moments of your life that you share so powerfully through your writing. I am richer and wiser for it.
Jane, I doubt I will read a more powerful, moving text this year (and you know I read omnivorously). So much to say but for now just one thing - do remember that for so many of us you are Tchaikovsky's nephew, a light in the gloom and a reason to smile on the greyest of days. With much love, Seamus
Jane, this is such a beautiful articulation of fading figures and those in the shallows of depression, and trying to figure out how to hold on to what’s there even as pieces get fuzzy and melt away. We have to remember that nature will bring the snowflake back, and hopefully in a more solid form, at least for a while. My dad was diagnosed with dementia this week. We all knew that of course he had dementia and that did nothing to quell the deep well of tears and grief that rose up. You have just given me words to describe the pain of it. I always keep your blogs so that I may learn from and find comfort in them when time permits. So, so grateful to have you as a friend, and honored to receive your own reflections on such deeply personal and yet often universal experiences. Please check that you’re pouring this same love and grace into yourself.
You are an amazing, deep person and great writer. Once again, thank you for sharing. My uncle just lost my aunt and your experience with your dad is reminding me how hard grief can be. It is reminding me to be softer with him. And how I wish I had been softer with my mom when she was grieving.
Hold on, sister. Hold on, hold on. Better days are coming.
"And so I unzip my life, and pour it onto the page, and hope for the best." Thank you for inviting me to experience these moments of your life that you share so powerfully through your writing. I am richer and wiser for it.