Oh, my...the magical thinking. Wishing that someone would come save me was my magical thinking. It’s kind of amazing what our brains do to get us through. I’m so glad you made it.
My mother doesn’t cry very often either, so I have no personal reference, but your description of looking down at your mom from the loft, fused-as-one with your dad’s barren rocking chair, glowing in grief by the light of the moon is so clear I can see it and feel it as perfectly as a scene in a play.
And as for that off-road car ride w your dad? Yes, yes! Oh how lucky you two were to have felt a “fistful of life” enter your noses from the fields! I remember the fullness, the completeness, of that kind of smell from picnics in meadows… no manmade smells, only nature, and the one you love. Ahhh.💜
You know, I had to ask my mom this morning if I descended the stairs to comfort her. She said I didn’t, and now as an adult I have wonder why didn’t I? Now, whenever I hear my mom’s vulnerability, I drop everything to hold her.
It’s quite an experience to be reliving this chapter of my life with one parent still alive, to share differing memories and feel how all our young hearts were colliding within the chaos, doing the best we could to hold a pain that was impossible to hold.
But yes, those fist-fulls of pollen and freedom were magnificent!
I so resonate with the “magical thinking” of your larger-than-life dad feeling closer to you in death than in life, because I’ve had the same exact feeling about my larger-than-life mom. I feel like she’s with me all the time now.
The clarity with which you write about your dad—not just as a parent you loved, but a fully-formed human being with loads of attendant complexities–means I’m waiting with bated breath for the next chapter. Every sentence is striking!
Gosh Maddie, how I wish we could sit down over a tea (or twelve) and share our stories. So much resonance. I find myself wondering about other possible parallels. I’m responding right now from my mom’s sofa after reading the latest chapter out loud to her; feeling decades of her in-the-flesh devotion to my life and how that was overlooked and taken for granted because when someone dies, yes, they become “larger than life.” Makes me ache a bit to now feel all the nuances of love that my teenage brain couldn’t comprehend.
It’s so dear to share this journey with you. Thank you for your heartfelt reflections and encouragement. 💛🌸
The ache is better than feeling numb (at least that’s what I tell myself when I’m feeling achy!). It’s a blessing that you can share yourself, via your writing, with your mom. I’ll bet she didn’t feel overlooked then, and there’s no way she does now.
I’m hoping that 1-12 cups of in-person tea happens for us someday soon! 🤞
The magical thinking; makes me think of Joan Didion: _The Year of Magical Thinking_ -- You are in her territory and deservedly so because of the bravery of this memoir.
Oh, my...the magical thinking. Wishing that someone would come save me was my magical thinking. It’s kind of amazing what our brains do to get us through. I’m so glad you made it.
I know that one well too. In fact, my first short film was titled CPR. 🤣 I was really grappling with this fantasy of being “saved” by someone else.
My mother doesn’t cry very often either, so I have no personal reference, but your description of looking down at your mom from the loft, fused-as-one with your dad’s barren rocking chair, glowing in grief by the light of the moon is so clear I can see it and feel it as perfectly as a scene in a play.
And as for that off-road car ride w your dad? Yes, yes! Oh how lucky you two were to have felt a “fistful of life” enter your noses from the fields! I remember the fullness, the completeness, of that kind of smell from picnics in meadows… no manmade smells, only nature, and the one you love. Ahhh.💜
You know, I had to ask my mom this morning if I descended the stairs to comfort her. She said I didn’t, and now as an adult I have wonder why didn’t I? Now, whenever I hear my mom’s vulnerability, I drop everything to hold her.
It’s quite an experience to be reliving this chapter of my life with one parent still alive, to share differing memories and feel how all our young hearts were colliding within the chaos, doing the best we could to hold a pain that was impossible to hold.
But yes, those fist-fulls of pollen and freedom were magnificent!
Precious conversation indeed. Give your mom a big hug from me💜
Done!
I so resonate with the “magical thinking” of your larger-than-life dad feeling closer to you in death than in life, because I’ve had the same exact feeling about my larger-than-life mom. I feel like she’s with me all the time now.
The clarity with which you write about your dad—not just as a parent you loved, but a fully-formed human being with loads of attendant complexities–means I’m waiting with bated breath for the next chapter. Every sentence is striking!
Gosh Maddie, how I wish we could sit down over a tea (or twelve) and share our stories. So much resonance. I find myself wondering about other possible parallels. I’m responding right now from my mom’s sofa after reading the latest chapter out loud to her; feeling decades of her in-the-flesh devotion to my life and how that was overlooked and taken for granted because when someone dies, yes, they become “larger than life.” Makes me ache a bit to now feel all the nuances of love that my teenage brain couldn’t comprehend.
It’s so dear to share this journey with you. Thank you for your heartfelt reflections and encouragement. 💛🌸
The ache is better than feeling numb (at least that’s what I tell myself when I’m feeling achy!). It’s a blessing that you can share yourself, via your writing, with your mom. I’ll bet she didn’t feel overlooked then, and there’s no way she does now.
I’m hoping that 1-12 cups of in-person tea happens for us someday soon! 🤞
Ache is aliveness! Thank you for that reminder. 💛
Beautiful memories. Alive in our minds eye! 🫶
Heartbreaking - it's so hard to see our parents in profound pain. 💔
You feel this one, huh. Yes. And oof.
Peace Kimberly, peace. My Dad, My Dad, gone these three and seventy years, lives on yet, within me, within me. Peace, Maurice
🙏❤️
So beautiful!
Thank you Kitty.💕
Finding a way thorough mo matter how hard: foreshadowed earlier: well-done.
The magical thinking; makes me think of Joan Didion: _The Year of Magical Thinking_ -- You are in her territory and deservedly so because of the bravery of this memoir.