Well, isn’t this just lovely? Great title, too. This piece shines with hard-won understanding that it takes years, if not a lifetime, to see that even the most alarming, demoralizing and dangerous parents were doing the best they could.
Thank you so much, Rona. I’ve seen this same understanding shine through your pieces, as well. Given how much I admire your writing, your kind words and sharing of this piece mean the world to me.
This brought me to tears as I am so very grateful you have found a way to honour the beautiful amidst the pain and chaos with tenderness. It is so rare and precious to find another human who doesn't dismiss one's difficult childhood in one sweep and instead sees the tangled mosaic of love and pain. My childhood was its own mosaic and I am so grateful for the gift of your writing echoing back tenderness and warmth.
Thank you, Laurie. What a comment to receive. I was a little uncertain of this one, so your beautiful response will stay with me. I'm grateful for your words, as well.
Thank you, Margaret. I often feel such recognition reading your wonderful, rich, and loving pieces about your own difficult upbringing. I so appreciate your reading and this lovely response.
That naive melody will run through my head today, Rob, just as much as your wonderful narratives. So deceptively easy to read. so skillfully woven together. I see it all--the tortured roof, dancing in the living room, the salsa and chips on the table, fear and expectancy and love. Thank you for the gift of your writing, my favourite of all here on Substack.
This comment made my week, thank you, Elizabeth. It was honestly a little terrifying hitting publish on a piece like this, so I can't tell you how much this means to read. Thank you so much.
Love and renovation, yes! Those layers of hurt and care, covered and rediscovered. And the way that meeting Emma was a catalyst in reconnecting past, present and future. Wonderful writing, Rob.
So beautifully written. As soon as I see you’ve written something, I have to stop whatever I’m doing and read it. And it’s always a delight. Thank you for being so open and sharing your memories.
I'm so thrilled to hear this, thank you, Julie! I'm so happy you're reading, and that you took the time to respond so beautifully. It really helps to hear this.
Thank you Debby. Mother’s Day is so hard for those of us missing our moms. Mine’s gone, too. I know we’ll be thinking of them. Sending you all my very best.
"We don't talk about these things," my mother always said. It's pretty obvious now that my father, who was a veteran, had PTSD. The term hadn't been invented back then, so how could we talk about it? Such great irony that my mother ended up with a writer as a daughter.
Yes, I sometimes think of it as a cross-generational collaboration, putting words to things that weren’t to be talked about. I’m so glad you ended up as a writer.
Well, isn’t this just lovely? Great title, too. This piece shines with hard-won understanding that it takes years, if not a lifetime, to see that even the most alarming, demoralizing and dangerous parents were doing the best they could.
Thank you so much, Rona. I’ve seen this same understanding shine through your pieces, as well. Given how much I admire your writing, your kind words and sharing of this piece mean the world to me.
This brought me to tears as I am so very grateful you have found a way to honour the beautiful amidst the pain and chaos with tenderness. It is so rare and precious to find another human who doesn't dismiss one's difficult childhood in one sweep and instead sees the tangled mosaic of love and pain. My childhood was its own mosaic and I am so grateful for the gift of your writing echoing back tenderness and warmth.
Thank you, Laurie. What a comment to receive. I was a little uncertain of this one, so your beautiful response will stay with me. I'm grateful for your words, as well.
Beautifully put
Thanks so much, Rob. Your posts are like an anchor of compassion.
What a beautiful thing to say, thank you, Virginia.
I loved this Rob. What grace you have. Such a descriptive piece with emotion packed into those napkins and touching hands and tacos.
So relatable.
Thank you, Margaret. I often feel such recognition reading your wonderful, rich, and loving pieces about your own difficult upbringing. I so appreciate your reading and this lovely response.
Home is where I want to be
Pick me up and turn me round
I feel numb, born with a weak heart
I guess I must be having fun
The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go along
Feet on the ground, head in the sky
It's okay, I know nothing's wrong, nothing
That naive melody will run through my head today, Rob, just as much as your wonderful narratives. So deceptively easy to read. so skillfully woven together. I see it all--the tortured roof, dancing in the living room, the salsa and chips on the table, fear and expectancy and love. Thank you for the gift of your writing, my favourite of all here on Substack.
This comment made my week, thank you, Elizabeth. It was honestly a little terrifying hitting publish on a piece like this, so I can't tell you how much this means to read. Thank you so much.
Love and renovation, yes! Those layers of hurt and care, covered and rediscovered. And the way that meeting Emma was a catalyst in reconnecting past, present and future. Wonderful writing, Rob.
Thank you so much, Wendy. I adore your writing, so it thrills me to no end to know that this connected.
That’s so kind of you, Rob, thank you.
Thank you for your honesty and acceptance of trauma in your own childhood as well as your Mom’s. Rare and beautiful.
Thank you, Lisa, that's so kind of you to say. It means so much to read a comment like this, so I appreciate you.
So beautifully written. As soon as I see you’ve written something, I have to stop whatever I’m doing and read it. And it’s always a delight. Thank you for being so open and sharing your memories.
What she said. Your writing is so moving, Rob.
Thank you, Elizabeth—and for your lovely note sharing the piece. I really appreciate you!
Ditto! Can’t wait for the next.
I'm so thrilled to hear this, thank you, Julie! I'm so happy you're reading, and that you took the time to respond so beautifully. It really helps to hear this.
This is beautifully written, full of love, understanding, and compassion. It’s thanks to @Rona Maynard that I found you.
Thank you, Sandell. Rona is the greatest, and I'm thrilled she sent you this way. I so appreciate your lovely words.
Beautiful. I love your ability to look back and capture these experiences in ways that bring the past into the present with such grace.
Thank you, my friend. It means so much to me to know that you’re reading, and that this one connected.
Beautiful piece, Rob.
Thank you so much, Susan. Of course you know how much I love your writing, so I'm very happy and grateful for this. Hope you're all doing well. x
Your writing always touches me deeply. Thank you!
Thanks so much, Cheryl. I'm so glad to know you're reading.
Your writing is so beautiful Rob-
I appreciate this more than you know, Elissa. Your wonderful, essential book Permission is so often on my mind. I'm uplifted by your kind words.
Thank you Rob 🙏🏻
Mother’s Day is this weekend. Kiss your mom and bring her flowers. I miss my mom so terribly. She knew I would.
Thank you Debby. Mother’s Day is so hard for those of us missing our moms. Mine’s gone, too. I know we’ll be thinking of them. Sending you all my very best.
Thank you and same to you Rob!
Beautiful piece Rob, my favorite line is this one …
“Emma,” my mom said, luxuriating in the name, like she was wrapping herself in a warm scarf.
…you do a great job of showing the different sides of your mom. People are complicated and as a writer I feel it’s our job to show that, bravo!
Thank you, my friend. I really appreciate you! I’m so glad the complicated, differing sides came across. That was very important to me to convey.
"We don't talk about these things," my mother always said. It's pretty obvious now that my father, who was a veteran, had PTSD. The term hadn't been invented back then, so how could we talk about it? Such great irony that my mother ended up with a writer as a daughter.
Yes, I sometimes think of it as a cross-generational collaboration, putting words to things that weren’t to be talked about. I’m so glad you ended up as a writer.
Thanks so much. (Very much enjoy your essays.)