Beautiful writing and poetry -- this is profoundly poignant for me right now, as my dad was diagnosed with leukemia a couple years ago and my sister with metastatic breast cancer. I've been grappling with what losing him/them will be like for the last few years (while always trying to stay in the moment and often failing) and reading your eloquent words brought me very close to tears.
Thank you so much. I'm so sorry about your dad and sister. I can only say that you won't really know what it's like until it happens so be in the moment as much as you can now. Of course I fail at that constantly.
If your Dad helped save you with his few not-so-nice words, your own very beautiful words have saved a memory of him, and will speak to anyone who has sailed on the seas of grief and loss, searching for life again.
You are welcome, LeeAnn. Now and then I read something deeply personal on Substack which, though unique to that person and complete in itself, also unbuttons my heart. Grief touches us all, if we live long enough.
I sat with my own Father, quite a few years ago now, as he fought with a severe post operative infection which we hoped he could beat but which, towards the end, it became clear he could not.
Thank you LeeAnn. Your words poignantly bridge to my own experience.
'There were minutes I thought I can’t keep sitting here, when death seemed too long and slow.'
These are the kinds of thoughts that demanded me to squeeze some grace out for myself so that I could pour in some forgiveness, for myself and my Dad and overcome the anger of grief.
Wow, an incredibly visceral description of such an important moment/time for you. It must take a lot of strength to capture something like that and share it.
James, thanks so much for taking the time to comment. I just had a look at your poems and painting and they just lovely. So sorry about your mom. Take care of yourself and I'm eager to check out more of your work.
This is exquisite. Both the poem and the accompanying essay speak tenderly of the love you and your father had, and still do. The poignant details: his rice-paper skin, the spoonfuls of strawberry ice cream - leave delicate impressions, like rose petals.
I’m humbled by your comment about my post. If my post moved you to share your words, it is the greatest honor I have ever received. I can’t tell you how much it means to me. You have a gift. I hope you continue to bring your story to life and into the world.🙏❤️
Vigil brought back so many memories of my mother, father, and friends who have passed. "This is not a poem about" was so well crafted that I printed it (and Three Trees), and it now hangs on the bulletin board in my studio (I changed my office to a studio because I do not work—I create).
Beautiful writing and poetry -- this is profoundly poignant for me right now, as my dad was diagnosed with leukemia a couple years ago and my sister with metastatic breast cancer. I've been grappling with what losing him/them will be like for the last few years (while always trying to stay in the moment and often failing) and reading your eloquent words brought me very close to tears.
Thank you so much. I'm so sorry about your dad and sister. I can only say that you won't really know what it's like until it happens so be in the moment as much as you can now. Of course I fail at that constantly.
Thank you for sharing that intimate piece and beautiful photo of you two.
Thanks so much, Teresa.
Beautiful writing, LeeAnn.
If your Dad helped save you with his few not-so-nice words, your own very beautiful words have saved a memory of him, and will speak to anyone who has sailed on the seas of grief and loss, searching for life again.
David, thank you so much for your beautiful kind words. It means a lot.
You are welcome, LeeAnn. Now and then I read something deeply personal on Substack which, though unique to that person and complete in itself, also unbuttons my heart. Grief touches us all, if we live long enough.
I sat with my own Father, quite a few years ago now, as he fought with a severe post operative infection which we hoped he could beat but which, towards the end, it became clear he could not.
Like you, I wrote of that experience to help position the grief in a way that I could hold it, but not let it consume me. You can read my words on Substack if you like. https://davidkirkby.substack.com/p/two-poems-for-fathers-day
Best Wishes - Dave
Thank you for sharing LeAnn
Absolutely beautiful writing. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you LeeAnn. Your words poignantly bridge to my own experience.
'There were minutes I thought I can’t keep sitting here, when death seemed too long and slow.'
These are the kinds of thoughts that demanded me to squeeze some grace out for myself so that I could pour in some forgiveness, for myself and my Dad and overcome the anger of grief.
Thank you for articulating the long vigil.
Thank you for commenting. I'm grateful that the piece spoke to you and your experience.
This was beautiful. Poignant and clear and loving.
This was exquisite, simply ethereal, threaded with light. I feel honored to have read it.
I'm honored that you read it.
Wow, an incredibly visceral description of such an important moment/time for you. It must take a lot of strength to capture something like that and share it.
It took a long time to share.
I love the sense of place throughout the poem. I feel like I've sat in that chair, in the sun but out of the wind.
I really appreciate your comment. Thanks so much.
Incredibly brave and beautiful. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks, Brent.
James, thanks so much for taking the time to comment. I just had a look at your poems and painting and they just lovely. So sorry about your mom. Take care of yourself and I'm eager to check out more of your work.
Thanks so much.
Leeann,
This is exquisite. Both the poem and the accompanying essay speak tenderly of the love you and your father had, and still do. The poignant details: his rice-paper skin, the spoonfuls of strawberry ice cream - leave delicate impressions, like rose petals.
I’m humbled by your comment about my post. If my post moved you to share your words, it is the greatest honor I have ever received. I can’t tell you how much it means to me. You have a gift. I hope you continue to bring your story to life and into the world.🙏❤️
Thank you so much, Mary. Your comment means the world to me.
LeeAnn,
Vigil brought back so many memories of my mother, father, and friends who have passed. "This is not a poem about" was so well crafted that I printed it (and Three Trees), and it now hangs on the bulletin board in my studio (I changed my office to a studio because I do not work—I create).
Joel
That's the most wonderful compliment I could ever get. Thank you.
Heartbreakingly beautiful. My whole body feels your words. Thank you for sharing so vulnerably