Breena, this was the most beautiful thing I've read in some time. There's a excerpt from Pablo Neruda that popped in my mind at the conclusion of your e-mail:
"That time was like never, and like always.
So we go there, where nothing is waiting;
we find everything waiting there."
May we all follow the sense of delusional wonder! Thanks for sharing all this. <3
I love how the you that left that voicenote uncovered what was still in you - the you who wrote this - all the awe, the wonder, the fear, the gratitude, the mortality. Everything that's in us all the time. ❤️ Thank you for sharing this, B! I felt like I was with you and the little boy in the backyard. Sun on our faces, in the hammock, alive. ❤️
This is my first time here and your words are beautiful!
It hit home for me in a lot of ways.
I’ve come across so many of my own writings from the hard times of realizing my mom's death was immanent… So many sprinklings of ways I express myself when I’m angry or scared or of course, inspired.
There was a line that talked about your fear of never feeling the sun again as you documented it on your voice note, and that cracked my heart a bit.
I just wrote a poem on my Substack about a week ago called "I wonder if Spring could've saved her" and it was about how I truly thought if my mom could've just made it to Spring... maybe that would've gave her the strength to fight and still be here with us.
She perished in the cold, short days of winter... A few days in the ICU (no sun or outside air or warmth on her skin), and before that, it was very difficult to find a window where she wasn't taking her vitamins or medication or when dad wasn't working so she could get out to the car before the sun left for the day around 4 or 5pm.
I wrote that poem after taking a walk outside with dad this Spring, and feeling slightly guilty about it cause mom couldn't experience it anymore.
She didn't get a chance to let it save her.
She clung to God. Became tunnel-versioned on Him. I believe that hindered her more than it helped, but who am I to say?
Goodness, sorry for the ramble!! Your writing pulled that from me!
And I have writing prompts to turn to, too?! Lovely!
Breena, this was the most beautiful thing I've read in some time. There's a excerpt from Pablo Neruda that popped in my mind at the conclusion of your e-mail:
"That time was like never, and like always.
So we go there, where nothing is waiting;
we find everything waiting there."
May we all follow the sense of delusional wonder! Thanks for sharing all this. <3
I love how the you that left that voicenote uncovered what was still in you - the you who wrote this - all the awe, the wonder, the fear, the gratitude, the mortality. Everything that's in us all the time. ❤️ Thank you for sharing this, B! I felt like I was with you and the little boy in the backyard. Sun on our faces, in the hammock, alive. ❤️
What an inspirational gut punch. See, this is why I stay home and read on a Saturday night.
Also sure you may go broke, that’s always a possibility. But loveless?! Never.
This is my first time here and your words are beautiful!
It hit home for me in a lot of ways.
I’ve come across so many of my own writings from the hard times of realizing my mom's death was immanent… So many sprinklings of ways I express myself when I’m angry or scared or of course, inspired.
There was a line that talked about your fear of never feeling the sun again as you documented it on your voice note, and that cracked my heart a bit.
I just wrote a poem on my Substack about a week ago called "I wonder if Spring could've saved her" and it was about how I truly thought if my mom could've just made it to Spring... maybe that would've gave her the strength to fight and still be here with us.
She perished in the cold, short days of winter... A few days in the ICU (no sun or outside air or warmth on her skin), and before that, it was very difficult to find a window where she wasn't taking her vitamins or medication or when dad wasn't working so she could get out to the car before the sun left for the day around 4 or 5pm.
I wrote that poem after taking a walk outside with dad this Spring, and feeling slightly guilty about it cause mom couldn't experience it anymore.
She didn't get a chance to let it save her.
She clung to God. Became tunnel-versioned on Him. I believe that hindered her more than it helped, but who am I to say?
Goodness, sorry for the ramble!! Your writing pulled that from me!
And I have writing prompts to turn to, too?! Lovely!
Thank you again!
What is one thing you are waiting on?
Permission is my best guess. To start things, to see things, to do things my own way despite the fear that I'll go broke or loveless in the process.