Such moving words....so blessed to have lived life with your mom....loved the story about your nephew and Nancy's piano...got to be within a few feet of the passing monks....find my eyes of disbelief shedding a little moisture also when hate teaches its evil.....but In the midst of all this.... a poor, mocked, abandoned carpenter of Nazareth gives me hope....because He gives me love....You have it too.... And very possibly one of the shortest and most favorite quotes of mine. "Love never looks away," brings me PEACE....
Wise friend, you are a steadying force. Must have been a reverent moment to witness the monks in person. Thank you for being there. And here. And for sending your Ko-Fi support. 💗
This brought tears to me. As you say, it's not malevolence that brings them out of me, but tenderness. Your essay reminds me that everything, now, feels connected to what we are living through. So, an essay about a parent cannot help also being an essay about resistance and loss and sacrifice. This is really beautiful writing, Elizabeth. It might be your best way of doing something. (But yeah, of course: Keep making phone calls, too! 🙂)
On a very minor note: The number 2 is special to me, too. My twins were born on 2/20/98 (two years before the turn of the century). They turned 22 on 2/20/2020, which we all loved.
<< It might be your best way of doing something.>> Thank you, Rita, for this important and affirming reminder. We can't disconnect ourselves from, well, ourselves, but I find so much solace in connecting with those who are reaching for higher ground. I love knowing that we share 2s in common. When I catch the time at 2:20, I will absolutely think of you and your twins. I hope they're both doing okay, and you as well.
Lovely and so touching Elizabeth. I too only remember birthdays with one exception, my sister Joanie who died on a January blue moon, it was so fitting and made for a fine celebration of life.
Thank you as always for sharing. You can find me tuning into the end of the nightly news, looking for the good, and weeping.
Thank you, Sandy. I'm sorry you lost your sister but how comforting to have a giant winter moon shining light on her behalf. Maybe our collective tears are taking messages to the beating heart of the earth.
Thank you! I’m with you in the sadness. And, like you, I am grateful for my community of friends, family, and neighbors who help buoy me up when I need it.
Grateful for your readership, Darrell, and pretty sure buoying is at least half the reason we were designed as social creatures. As a species, we sure have created our share of high water.
I miss my mom more now than I did right after she passed. What I would give for just an hour with her again. Your mom’s photo is adorable. PS You are definitely allowed to feel disturbed during these disturbing times. That means you’re human, in my opinion.
Thanks, Teresa. Allowed or not, the feelings are all here with me, Teresa. Unsettled, disgusted, heartsick, and--yes--hopeful, still.
I love that photo of my mom as a baby, and the glimpse of a vintage pram, and perhaps, but I'll never know for sure, the possibility of a piano behind that?
Beautiful Elizabeth. Tears streaming down my face here...
Today has been filled with so much emotion, for so many reasons.
'Love exacts a cost.' It most certainly does, but as Tennyson wrote “‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” Is it, though? (I know in my heart that it is.) The pain of loss lasts so long (my mom has been gone for 44 years-it still hurts at times. My dad 24 years. I feel their loss when we have family get togethers, birthdays and special moments that I would have shared with them.)
Now, during these times of much worry, and as you've written, not having 'lived a life that has asked me for deep sacrifices.'...what am I ready to sacrifice? How can I support my southern neighbors ?
I can continue looking for the good in everyone, and reading your words that keep me in touch with all the things. And I can continue to believe that people are ready to 'go the distance' and that we will know peace again, soon.
Much gratitude, Jeannine. That is a long time to be without your parents, especially your mom. I hope you have a repository of memories to draw from and maybe a handful of photos, too.
Your desire to offer support does not go unnoticed. I do believe that the more of us believing peace is possible, the more likely we are to do what's needed to nurture it into fullness again. Thank you so much for reading, and hugs for the tears, dear one.
What a beautiful tapestry you've created Elizabeth, weaving the story of your Mom with the walk of the monks and senseless murders of Nicole and Alex. It's an amazing thing that your nephew began composing during his grief, an apt tribute to your Mom.
I love the idea of words as tapestry, Donna. In fact the friend who died by suicide was learning to weave, so it also brings her and her beautiful work to mind. Thank you for reading. I hope you're doing okay. ❤️🩹
Injustice is more likely to make me angry, too. Which is good. Anger motivates me; sadness curls me inward. But I will say (and this is a tangent, I think) that when *I* do an act of kindness for a stranger, *I* get choked up. I have to move along quickly, so I don't stand there in front of someone in a dicey situation and start crying. It feels overwhelming. I've never understood this. Maybe you do? Is it because when kindness comes from me, it can't help but be a filter on the world? It also touches sadness in me. Or maybe the very act of engaging just cracks something open. I don't know.
I think it's the last part, Wendy, and that you didn't get the chance to have kindness modeled for you as a child. Little girl Wendy might be wishing someone had treated her with that kind of tenderness. The way I see it, tears ask us to pay attention, a way of highlighting our heart work.
I am so grateful you filled me in on the Walk for Peace. I am thinking about your nephew at the piano — how startling that must have been for everyone that night. I am glad you celebrate birthdays, but the post also seems to be a testament to the fact that some dates are ones we can’t help but notice as they approach and pass. Peaceful wishes to you in coming days, Elizabeth.
You are so right, Amy, that some dates are too significant to not notice. I actually think we are capable of feeling that pain at a cellular level. What I mean by "remember", though, is that I try to dwell more specifically on the life lived than on what was lost the moment of departure. I'm thinking of social media posts where people remark, as I did here, on how many years it's been since someone died. I guess I'd rather recognize how old someone might have been on the birthday. It's a little hard for me to explain, but it's related to tending one differently than the other.
Thank you for helping me think that through a bit more carefully, and for reading. 💗
Thanks so much, Prue. The monks are remarkable in their devotion. I'm glad their efforts are getting a lot of attention and hope by some miracle it will rub off!
This is so beautiful, thank you for sharing such tender memories. And, yes, while my life isn't easy, there is much more I could be (and will work at) doing. While the cost of peace keeps growing through the heart-wrenching examples of Renee and Alex, may we prevail in creating a better world. A desperately needed world.
Such moving words....so blessed to have lived life with your mom....loved the story about your nephew and Nancy's piano...got to be within a few feet of the passing monks....find my eyes of disbelief shedding a little moisture also when hate teaches its evil.....but In the midst of all this.... a poor, mocked, abandoned carpenter of Nazareth gives me hope....because He gives me love....You have it too.... And very possibly one of the shortest and most favorite quotes of mine. "Love never looks away," brings me PEACE....
Wise friend, you are a steadying force. Must have been a reverent moment to witness the monks in person. Thank you for being there. And here. And for sending your Ko-Fi support. 💗
This brought tears to me. As you say, it's not malevolence that brings them out of me, but tenderness. Your essay reminds me that everything, now, feels connected to what we are living through. So, an essay about a parent cannot help also being an essay about resistance and loss and sacrifice. This is really beautiful writing, Elizabeth. It might be your best way of doing something. (But yeah, of course: Keep making phone calls, too! 🙂)
On a very minor note: The number 2 is special to me, too. My twins were born on 2/20/98 (two years before the turn of the century). They turned 22 on 2/20/2020, which we all loved.
<< It might be your best way of doing something.>> Thank you, Rita, for this important and affirming reminder. We can't disconnect ourselves from, well, ourselves, but I find so much solace in connecting with those who are reaching for higher ground. I love knowing that we share 2s in common. When I catch the time at 2:20, I will absolutely think of you and your twins. I hope they're both doing okay, and you as well.
Lovely and so touching Elizabeth. I too only remember birthdays with one exception, my sister Joanie who died on a January blue moon, it was so fitting and made for a fine celebration of life.
Thank you as always for sharing. You can find me tuning into the end of the nightly news, looking for the good, and weeping.
Thank you, Sandy. I'm sorry you lost your sister but how comforting to have a giant winter moon shining light on her behalf. Maybe our collective tears are taking messages to the beating heart of the earth.
🫶🏼
Thank you for your story.
Thank you for taking time to take it in. I'm grateful.
“Love exacts a cost,”
tenderness tears tear open
Ice-numbed hearts and hands.
This somehow feels hopeful. Marisol. Thank you. ❤️🩹
So beautiful, your words are an art beyond a single view p
Blessings, Jill, and sincere thanks. I always appreciate seeing you here.
Thank you! I’m with you in the sadness. And, like you, I am grateful for my community of friends, family, and neighbors who help buoy me up when I need it.
Grateful for your readership, Darrell, and pretty sure buoying is at least half the reason we were designed as social creatures. As a species, we sure have created our share of high water.
Amen, Elizabeth.
Thanks, Rona. So be it.
I miss my mom more now than I did right after she passed. What I would give for just an hour with her again. Your mom’s photo is adorable. PS You are definitely allowed to feel disturbed during these disturbing times. That means you’re human, in my opinion.
Thanks, Teresa. Allowed or not, the feelings are all here with me, Teresa. Unsettled, disgusted, heartsick, and--yes--hopeful, still.
I love that photo of my mom as a baby, and the glimpse of a vintage pram, and perhaps, but I'll never know for sure, the possibility of a piano behind that?
🙏🏻💙
Thanks for reading, Kim. So grateful.
Beautiful Elizabeth. Tears streaming down my face here...
Today has been filled with so much emotion, for so many reasons.
'Love exacts a cost.' It most certainly does, but as Tennyson wrote “‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” Is it, though? (I know in my heart that it is.) The pain of loss lasts so long (my mom has been gone for 44 years-it still hurts at times. My dad 24 years. I feel their loss when we have family get togethers, birthdays and special moments that I would have shared with them.)
Now, during these times of much worry, and as you've written, not having 'lived a life that has asked me for deep sacrifices.'...what am I ready to sacrifice? How can I support my southern neighbors ?
I can continue looking for the good in everyone, and reading your words that keep me in touch with all the things. And I can continue to believe that people are ready to 'go the distance' and that we will know peace again, soon.
Thank you Elizabeth.
Much gratitude, Jeannine. That is a long time to be without your parents, especially your mom. I hope you have a repository of memories to draw from and maybe a handful of photos, too.
Your desire to offer support does not go unnoticed. I do believe that the more of us believing peace is possible, the more likely we are to do what's needed to nurture it into fullness again. Thank you so much for reading, and hugs for the tears, dear one.
What a beautiful tapestry you've created Elizabeth, weaving the story of your Mom with the walk of the monks and senseless murders of Nicole and Alex. It's an amazing thing that your nephew began composing during his grief, an apt tribute to your Mom.
I love the idea of words as tapestry, Donna. In fact the friend who died by suicide was learning to weave, so it also brings her and her beautiful work to mind. Thank you for reading. I hope you're doing okay. ❤️🩹
Injustice is more likely to make me angry, too. Which is good. Anger motivates me; sadness curls me inward. But I will say (and this is a tangent, I think) that when *I* do an act of kindness for a stranger, *I* get choked up. I have to move along quickly, so I don't stand there in front of someone in a dicey situation and start crying. It feels overwhelming. I've never understood this. Maybe you do? Is it because when kindness comes from me, it can't help but be a filter on the world? It also touches sadness in me. Or maybe the very act of engaging just cracks something open. I don't know.
I think it's the last part, Wendy, and that you didn't get the chance to have kindness modeled for you as a child. Little girl Wendy might be wishing someone had treated her with that kind of tenderness. The way I see it, tears ask us to pay attention, a way of highlighting our heart work.
So glad you're here...we're here.
My circle is kinder, wider, and more thoughtful with you in it.
I am so grateful you filled me in on the Walk for Peace. I am thinking about your nephew at the piano — how startling that must have been for everyone that night. I am glad you celebrate birthdays, but the post also seems to be a testament to the fact that some dates are ones we can’t help but notice as they approach and pass. Peaceful wishes to you in coming days, Elizabeth.
You are so right, Amy, that some dates are too significant to not notice. I actually think we are capable of feeling that pain at a cellular level. What I mean by "remember", though, is that I try to dwell more specifically on the life lived than on what was lost the moment of departure. I'm thinking of social media posts where people remark, as I did here, on how many years it's been since someone died. I guess I'd rather recognize how old someone might have been on the birthday. It's a little hard for me to explain, but it's related to tending one differently than the other.
Thank you for helping me think that through a bit more carefully, and for reading. 💗
Profound and beautiful.
Have also followed the monks and am awed by their simplicity, their gentleness and acceptance under such horrendous circumstances.
Thanks so much, Prue. The monks are remarkable in their devotion. I'm glad their efforts are getting a lot of attention and hope by some miracle it will rub off!
This is so beautiful, thank you for sharing such tender memories. And, yes, while my life isn't easy, there is much more I could be (and will work at) doing. While the cost of peace keeps growing through the heart-wrenching examples of Renee and Alex, may we prevail in creating a better world. A desperately needed world.
We will prevail. Perhaps not in this lifetime, which is a daunting thought. But power structures based on fear never last.
Thank you for being here and for anything you are able to do. ❤️🩹