I know I'm reading something meaningful when I feel my whole body slow into presence and start to feel again in the midst of my push through the day. Loss being love with nowhere to land just rings out with truth. It's like having a doctor put a name to your ailment. The hurt doesn't go away but somehow having someone with authority properly name your wound makes it bearable. Your writing is heart-doctoring for me, your words properly honoring those loss wounds.
Thank you, my friend. These are some amazing words to read. Feeling connected to others who've experienced similar losses has certainly been a heart-healing thing for me, and this comment really delivers that. 🙏
Wow Rob, thank you for your words as always. I’m in some complicated grief at the moment and just wrote a piece on it which shivers in the shadow of this beauty!
Ah, Meryl—so sorry to hear you're in the thick of it, but glad this connected. I'm always so happy for your words, whether it's a thoughtful comment like this or your own lovely pieces, which I always look forward to.
This was beautiful, Rob. Reading it brought water right up to the backs of my eyes and delivered a lightness to my chest. As a kid and still now, I imagine the distance between where I am and all the places I've been. Or the space between the place I am now and where someone I love but am not with is. Mental time travel out the driveway, down the road, on an airplane and over vast sea and land... you described it beautifully and I loved reading that section.
And then you tied it, so eloquently, into this feeling of space between us and our beloved dead. Your grandpa reminds me of mine. He was an arm chair and baseball kind of guy, and he loved his cigarettes. I said goodbye to him for the last time when I was 13. He was laid in a hospital bed unconscious and discolored from internal bleeding. I told him I loved him. And how much he meant to me. And sometimes when I drive by his old cottage up near Algonquin park or take my coffee out to the lake in the morning, he's standing right there over my shoulder telling me a story in his measured and thoughtful intonation, scattered with dramatic pauses.
Thanks for writing and making me feel what's important in life. In dealing with the inevitable loss that is to come in my life, I will reread these words.
Thanks so much, Jack—what an amazing and beautiful response. So glad it resonated, and that you've felt something similar with your grandpa. Thanks so much for this, as always.
Rob, I could highlight the whole piece. As I think you know my mom is in memory care and like yours quit speaking some time ago. We look at pictures and we listen to music, and she travels through time and connects with joy. An unknown joy, but joy nevertheless.
My experience with her and with my deceased dad is like you beautifully capture - a relationship that continues to grow and grow in a more compassionate, wholehearted way.
“It would have been something to see them through this more generous lens while they were alive, and yet that’s a gift that only loss has delivered. Their absence has brought them closer to me, in this new and unexpected way.”
This realization is one that can be brought forth to all my relationships and will make them even richer while living.
Thank you for being the contribution you are to the lives of your readers.
What an incredibly lovely comment to read, thank you, James. I'd been wondering how you were doing with your mom. Seeing a parent through dementia is one of the hardest things imaginable, and yet I found it felt like such an honor, too. You've mentioned that you had quite a complicated relationship, as well, so I'm thrilled to here that you're also finding that growing compassion and wholeheartedness. There's so much to be grateful for in that. I'll be thinking of you as you continue accompanying your mom through this. She's sure lucky to have you.
I love how you describe your experience of grief as “the time since.” Your stories within the story are beautifully woven together, as always. I look forward to every story you publish. ✨
Rob, I love your description of loss as love with nowhere to land. This hit me right in the heart. Thank you for sharing your pain and your sweet memories.
Thank you, Cherie. It's funny, I rewrote the last section several times, and it wasn't until the last pass that I realized that's what I wanted to say. So happy to hear that connected. As always, so grateful to have you reading and taking the time to post such a thoughtful and lovely comment.
Well, I return the sentiment that I am glad to have found you and this piece, which brought me to tears. I lost my mom at the end of 2021 and my dad last July and am currently trying to look out for my stepdad in NYC while I live in LA. You have so vividly captured what it is to love and to grieve beyond distance, and to understand those closest to us in a different way when they’re no longer here. This was extraordinary. So good to meet you.
I'm so glad this connected. We're on such similar parental grief timelines. My mom died at the end of 2021, my dad in February of last year, and my (ex- but still loved) stepdad between the two. Here's wishing you all the best in looking out for your stepdad, from someone who knows all too well how hard it is. He's lucky to have you.
I loved this. I have felt loss and known the distance. I’ve loved the songs that say it - The Pretenders, 2000 miles. Most of all, your quote, I felt only loss, which is really just love with nowhere to land. ❤️
Thank you. I’ll read and, if it seems appropriate, share that with my neighbours, they very recently lost a (grown) son. Their grief is very present and I admit to always having a tear in my eye when sharing a hug with them too.
Reflecting back on times of loss of my own, and on the current disappearance of my late stage dementia mother, I am astounded by how the heart grows. And learns. And expands some more. Thank you.
I really enjoyed your piece. It's a wonderful way to think of those who have died as simply moving onto another place. Just like we'd write a letter or call someone who moves, how can we now connect to the person who has died?
I often write letters to my spirit son and he finds ways to answers me and send me signs that he's doing just fine. He also visits me in dreams.
I know I'm reading something meaningful when I feel my whole body slow into presence and start to feel again in the midst of my push through the day. Loss being love with nowhere to land just rings out with truth. It's like having a doctor put a name to your ailment. The hurt doesn't go away but somehow having someone with authority properly name your wound makes it bearable. Your writing is heart-doctoring for me, your words properly honoring those loss wounds.
Thank you, my friend. These are some amazing words to read. Feeling connected to others who've experienced similar losses has certainly been a heart-healing thing for me, and this comment really delivers that. 🙏
Wow Rob, thank you for your words as always. I’m in some complicated grief at the moment and just wrote a piece on it which shivers in the shadow of this beauty!
Ah, Meryl—so sorry to hear you're in the thick of it, but glad this connected. I'm always so happy for your words, whether it's a thoughtful comment like this or your own lovely pieces, which I always look forward to.
This was beautiful, Rob. Reading it brought water right up to the backs of my eyes and delivered a lightness to my chest. As a kid and still now, I imagine the distance between where I am and all the places I've been. Or the space between the place I am now and where someone I love but am not with is. Mental time travel out the driveway, down the road, on an airplane and over vast sea and land... you described it beautifully and I loved reading that section.
And then you tied it, so eloquently, into this feeling of space between us and our beloved dead. Your grandpa reminds me of mine. He was an arm chair and baseball kind of guy, and he loved his cigarettes. I said goodbye to him for the last time when I was 13. He was laid in a hospital bed unconscious and discolored from internal bleeding. I told him I loved him. And how much he meant to me. And sometimes when I drive by his old cottage up near Algonquin park or take my coffee out to the lake in the morning, he's standing right there over my shoulder telling me a story in his measured and thoughtful intonation, scattered with dramatic pauses.
Thanks for writing and making me feel what's important in life. In dealing with the inevitable loss that is to come in my life, I will reread these words.
Thanks so much, Jack—what an amazing and beautiful response. So glad it resonated, and that you've felt something similar with your grandpa. Thanks so much for this, as always.
Rob, I could highlight the whole piece. As I think you know my mom is in memory care and like yours quit speaking some time ago. We look at pictures and we listen to music, and she travels through time and connects with joy. An unknown joy, but joy nevertheless.
My experience with her and with my deceased dad is like you beautifully capture - a relationship that continues to grow and grow in a more compassionate, wholehearted way.
“It would have been something to see them through this more generous lens while they were alive, and yet that’s a gift that only loss has delivered. Their absence has brought them closer to me, in this new and unexpected way.”
This realization is one that can be brought forth to all my relationships and will make them even richer while living.
Thank you for being the contribution you are to the lives of your readers.
What an incredibly lovely comment to read, thank you, James. I'd been wondering how you were doing with your mom. Seeing a parent through dementia is one of the hardest things imaginable, and yet I found it felt like such an honor, too. You've mentioned that you had quite a complicated relationship, as well, so I'm thrilled to here that you're also finding that growing compassion and wholeheartedness. There's so much to be grateful for in that. I'll be thinking of you as you continue accompanying your mom through this. She's sure lucky to have you.
I love how you describe your experience of grief as “the time since.” Your stories within the story are beautifully woven together, as always. I look forward to every story you publish. ✨
Thank you, Jenn! That's really lovely to hear. I so appreciate your reading and leaving such generous comments.
These pieces are great, Rob. This one especially hits home for me but I've been enjoying all of them. Thanks for putting them up here.
Thanks, man—so glad to have you reading along, and especially happy to hear that this one landed for you.
Rob, I love your description of loss as love with nowhere to land. This hit me right in the heart. Thank you for sharing your pain and your sweet memories.
Thank you, Cherie. It's funny, I rewrote the last section several times, and it wasn't until the last pass that I realized that's what I wanted to say. So happy to hear that connected. As always, so grateful to have you reading and taking the time to post such a thoughtful and lovely comment.
Isn’t that funny how that happens? I often write something and think, yes, that’s how I feel and I didn’t even know it.
Well, I return the sentiment that I am glad to have found you and this piece, which brought me to tears. I lost my mom at the end of 2021 and my dad last July and am currently trying to look out for my stepdad in NYC while I live in LA. You have so vividly captured what it is to love and to grieve beyond distance, and to understand those closest to us in a different way when they’re no longer here. This was extraordinary. So good to meet you.
I'm so glad this connected. We're on such similar parental grief timelines. My mom died at the end of 2021, my dad in February of last year, and my (ex- but still loved) stepdad between the two. Here's wishing you all the best in looking out for your stepdad, from someone who knows all too well how hard it is. He's lucky to have you.
So good to meet you, too.
Wow we really are on a similar timeline. So sorry for all your losses. It’s quite a heartbreaking and heart-opening season.
I loved this. I have felt loss and known the distance. I’ve loved the songs that say it - The Pretenders, 2000 miles. Most of all, your quote, I felt only loss, which is really just love with nowhere to land. ❤️
Thank so much for being here, Karen. 2,000 Miles is perfect. I've been reading a lot of what Nick Cave has to say about grief. One of my favorite quotes: “It was as if the experience of grief enlarged my heart in some way.” (https://www.theguardian.com/books/2022/oct/23/faith-hope-and-carnage-by-nick-cave-and-sean-ohagan-review-a-lament-a-celebration-a-howl)
Thank you. I’ll read and, if it seems appropriate, share that with my neighbours, they very recently lost a (grown) son. Their grief is very present and I admit to always having a tear in my eye when sharing a hug with them too.
Reflecting back on times of loss of my own, and on the current disappearance of my late stage dementia mother, I am astounded by how the heart grows. And learns. And expands some more. Thank you.
I really enjoyed your piece. It's a wonderful way to think of those who have died as simply moving onto another place. Just like we'd write a letter or call someone who moves, how can we now connect to the person who has died?
I often write letters to my spirit son and he finds ways to answers me and send me signs that he's doing just fine. He also visits me in dreams.
Thank you for this!
This is so beautiful to read, Janine. 🙏