As I have just written in my restacked note to this wonderful piece, the tree is a japanese cherry and I am sure that is no accident that Liam's mourners chose this tree (who knows? they may have even gifted it to the Denver Parks Commission themselves) as the blooms - which feature in many japanese still life artworks - are both beautiful and short-lived. Ideal metaphors for human life.
I have lost so many including my best beloved husband, and you have described grief exactly right!!! My tears fall freely for others I don’t know because I understand the despair of their loved ones. My daughter recently had a gravely ill friend (who, happily, seems to be recovering) and was amazed by the ripples through the community that concern about this young lady created. The bonds we feel with one another are actually one of the magical things about being human. Thank you for reminding us of this, Nadia
I live near a corner. One day there were sirens and blinking lights, one motorcycle down, one empty helmet rolling in the gutter. Following day, there were flowers on the grass. Newspapers mentioned the loving husband, father, son, uncle. Few days later I drove past three women wearing dresses in dark colors, holding each other, heads down, an advertisement labelled “Women Coming from Funeral”.
And my heart broke for them. Clueless , no idea if they were neighbors or just passing through, but their tremendous loss slammed me. For weeks I’d see the flowers being refreshed . Never saw the ladies again, but I prayed every day as I drove there for them.
It’s been 4 or 5 years since that day. The flowers are long gone. Did they move away ? Or move along? I still live here. I don’t think about that family often anymore . But Liam’s tree brought them all back again. RIP, unknown friend. Pacem to your family.
Thank you Nadia. As different as we appear to be (we are not separate) I am amazed how frequently I feel compelled to comment and thank you. Also the people you have attracted to your writing - the comments are a pleasure to read. Thank you Nadia for creating this. Thanks to my brother Jim for leading me here
The comments really are so thoughtful. I e especially enjoyed everyone’s contribution to our thread this week about how we’ve been enriched by other faiths.
This hits home on so many levels. I lost my own 27 year old son, Keegan suddenly in March of this year. Yesterday I accidentally butt-dialed him and when I saw his name come up on my phone I was hit with a landslide of raw grief and waves of deep sorrow. I'm still not okay to be honest. And Nadia you are so correct in all that you say about mourning the loss that we share with strangers. I feel those so keenly now.
I am always astounded at the amount of grief and suffering going on around me at which I am unaware. Whole worlds collapsing in complete silence to the rest of us. But I suppose that we couldn't bear it if we even understood the tiniest amount of sorrow that people around us are bearing, all the time, every day.
I learned a lot about things NOT to say to people who have lost a loved one years ago while training to be a Stephen Minister. One that I especially remember is “I know how you feel.” (No, I don’t.) Most times, the best thing to say is nothing at all. A silent hug or a touch on the shoulder of the bereaved person is enough.
Working in hospice, the various paths of the grief journey take such winding journeys. I can now add loops and planets when I sit with loved ones as they make this journey. For this, I thank you.
Beautiful. I have dealt with a lot of loss lately and now my dear friend is mourning the loss of her marriage. I forwarded this to her. It is not a topic our society copes well with. Loss is a silent shame so often.
Thank you for taking a second look! It seems to me that we who have had loss in our lives can enter into others griefs quickly, because we felt our own. And of course we have no idea what they're going through but we have a glimpse. As I read this, it brought tears to my eyes because I entered their grief too, and of course you have a way of sharing such vulnerability. Much love!!
Again - thank you for this. As my favorite poet put it, "Humankind can only bear/ so much reality". The constant dance between indifference and overwhelm, to keep our hearts both open and protected. It's grace, and knowing that it's grace. Sometimes on the Metro I find myself silently repeating a line from the Vespers Litany: ". . . those who toil, those who sing, and all the people here present who await from the Lord great and abundant mercy, let us pray to the Lord". Prayers for comfort to all those who have posted here, and all those beyond.
As I have just written in my restacked note to this wonderful piece, the tree is a japanese cherry and I am sure that is no accident that Liam's mourners chose this tree (who knows? they may have even gifted it to the Denver Parks Commission themselves) as the blooms - which feature in many japanese still life artworks - are both beautiful and short-lived. Ideal metaphors for human life.
I have lost so many including my best beloved husband, and you have described grief exactly right!!! My tears fall freely for others I don’t know because I understand the despair of their loved ones. My daughter recently had a gravely ill friend (who, happily, seems to be recovering) and was amazed by the ripples through the community that concern about this young lady created. The bonds we feel with one another are actually one of the magical things about being human. Thank you for reminding us of this, Nadia
I live near a corner. One day there were sirens and blinking lights, one motorcycle down, one empty helmet rolling in the gutter. Following day, there were flowers on the grass. Newspapers mentioned the loving husband, father, son, uncle. Few days later I drove past three women wearing dresses in dark colors, holding each other, heads down, an advertisement labelled “Women Coming from Funeral”.
And my heart broke for them. Clueless , no idea if they were neighbors or just passing through, but their tremendous loss slammed me. For weeks I’d see the flowers being refreshed . Never saw the ladies again, but I prayed every day as I drove there for them.
It’s been 4 or 5 years since that day. The flowers are long gone. Did they move away ? Or move along? I still live here. I don’t think about that family often anymore . But Liam’s tree brought them all back again. RIP, unknown friend. Pacem to your family.
I’m going to put my loved ones on a tree in my park. What a lovely beautiful way of remembering.
Thank you Nadia. As different as we appear to be (we are not separate) I am amazed how frequently I feel compelled to comment and thank you. Also the people you have attracted to your writing - the comments are a pleasure to read. Thank you Nadia for creating this. Thanks to my brother Jim for leading me here
The comments really are so thoughtful. I e especially enjoyed everyone’s contribution to our thread this week about how we’ve been enriched by other faiths.
Beautiful. And to those of us who remain behind for now, grief always brings us to the brink of something else we have known.
This hits home on so many levels. I lost my own 27 year old son, Keegan suddenly in March of this year. Yesterday I accidentally butt-dialed him and when I saw his name come up on my phone I was hit with a landslide of raw grief and waves of deep sorrow. I'm still not okay to be honest. And Nadia you are so correct in all that you say about mourning the loss that we share with strangers. I feel those so keenly now.
Minnie, my heart breaks for you. What an unspeakable loss.
I’m so very sorry for your loss.
I am always astounded at the amount of grief and suffering going on around me at which I am unaware. Whole worlds collapsing in complete silence to the rest of us. But I suppose that we couldn't bear it if we even understood the tiniest amount of sorrow that people around us are bearing, all the time, every day.
I learned a lot about things NOT to say to people who have lost a loved one years ago while training to be a Stephen Minister. One that I especially remember is “I know how you feel.” (No, I don’t.) Most times, the best thing to say is nothing at all. A silent hug or a touch on the shoulder of the bereaved person is enough.
Working in hospice, the various paths of the grief journey take such winding journeys. I can now add loops and planets when I sit with loved ones as they make this journey. For this, I thank you.
https://www.after.com/obituaries/liam-simonet-schoeninger :(
Thank you for sharing the link with Liam's heartbreaking and beautiful story.
Beautiful. I have dealt with a lot of loss lately and now my dear friend is mourning the loss of her marriage. I forwarded this to her. It is not a topic our society copes well with. Loss is a silent shame so often.
Thank you for taking a second look! It seems to me that we who have had loss in our lives can enter into others griefs quickly, because we felt our own. And of course we have no idea what they're going through but we have a glimpse. As I read this, it brought tears to my eyes because I entered their grief too, and of course you have a way of sharing such vulnerability. Much love!!
I learned the hard way how important it is to do the same kinds of things while people are alive.
Again - thank you for this. As my favorite poet put it, "Humankind can only bear/ so much reality". The constant dance between indifference and overwhelm, to keep our hearts both open and protected. It's grace, and knowing that it's grace. Sometimes on the Metro I find myself silently repeating a line from the Vespers Litany: ". . . those who toil, those who sing, and all the people here present who await from the Lord great and abundant mercy, let us pray to the Lord". Prayers for comfort to all those who have posted here, and all those beyond.
An excellent head for this vision to stick in and swirl around, and while I do think that was its function I do not think that was its purpose.
I think you have to let go of grief.
sooner or later. somewhere. somehow. Seen or unseen.
Loud or silent. Pretty or ugly. Admired or criticized.
It's gotta go.
It will eat your ass up if you do not.
(and I am glad you refuse to sell me socks, thank you.)