Jul 30, 2023·edited Jul 30, 2023Liked by Kimberly Warner
Oh Kimberly, this was gorgeous. Your ability to summon the deep pains of longing and grief through words moves me to tears. It also made me want to squeeze you in solidarity. The pain of losing someone so dear and then transmuting it into such beauty is a gift that you possess masterfully. I love these pieces. Please don’t stop.
Well your wish to squeeze me was just felt through your beautiful words. Thank you Jenovia. I feel a kindred connection with you through our experiences of grief.
Sara I can’t tell you how much your encouragement means to me. For some reason I was nervous to post this one (and I’m sure that will happen again and again) and you made me feel OK with the angst. 🌼
Jenovia recommended your substack to her subscribers, and the way she did so convinced me to check it out. I'm glad I did.
This is the first entry I've read. I found the way you related your father's passing just a month before you graduated from high school, and also intermingled the feelings, to be very moving. I saw a red warning light signaling that "these events should not be happening at the same time" along with the stark reality that life does not respect shoulds, sometimes. Matter-of-fact and poignant at the same time, you surely evoked a lot in me. Thank you for sharing your writing, and your life.
So true—life doesn't obey that "red warning light." For many years I tried to make sense of a senseless world; I suppose it's what we do when life has fallen from the illusion of our grip. So glad to have your here. Thank you Jenovia for bringing a kindred spirit into the hearth.
"I fantasize that when dad’s soul was released from its 49 year-old home, it burst forth with such magnificence that the hot, brick oven couldn’t contain it. He escaped the confines of mortal life with one hearty, flagrant roar." On the evening that my mom (also a force of nature) died, gale-force winds swept through town. I went into the hospital, and everything was calm; I left, and was literally blown over. It was a surreal experience, and this line about your dad's passing feels...eerily similar.
I am so glad to have found your writing. You don't waste a single word. I'm so looking forward to reading more. ❤️
You just sent chills up my spine. Stillness unfurling into gale-force winds as you mom's spirit exited her body. Wow. I'm quite happy with the mysterious forces of life and am grateful you have that memory to hold alongside your mother's passing. Beautiful.
My stepdad died the month I graduated from high school. It felt like an odd, surreal merger of two sides of growing up in the same moment: independence and loss. It's probably why I've thought about it more recently in my 40s. It was too much to process then. Thank you for sharing. Your writing captures so much.
I know exactly this feeling! "An odd, surreal merger of two sides of growing up in the same moment." I can't say I've ever met someone who shared this similar timing of events. I feel grateful for your presence and empathy here.
Your writing is beautiful! And relatable. This is the first post I read of yours but could tell you're about my age just from your teenage early-90s hair. I love your descriptive details and flowing thoughts. Looking forward to reading more of your work!
And I learned more about your advocacy work too. I can see how sharing voices and growing community can help now, while also helping move the needle forward. I work in an oncology / autoimmune clinic and know people with health challenges don't get enough support to help live through periods that often don't have fixed timelines. I admire what you're doing!
Daphne I can’t thank you enough for exploring the production work that I do. You’re so right, sharing patient narratives is very powerful, not just for the narrators but also their care teams, loved ones and other audience members. One of my colleagues Dr. Annie Brewster started an organization called Health Story Collaborative that was inspired by narrative medicine’s positive outcomes. Storytelling can be such an important tool, especially when patients are experiencing the isolation, disempowerment and hopelessness that are often part of the chronic illness journey. As an oncologist and autoimmune specialist I’m sure you see this first-hand quite frequently.
I’m so glad to have crossed paths with you and really look forward to exploring your essays and work as well. And side note, I was raised in Wisconsin and have such fond memories of Madison. 💛🌼
“I have a sudden and secret impulse to hold every cigarette in my hands. I want to press them to my cheek, shove them in my mouth, make whatever is left of dad a part of me.”
So heartbreaking, Kimberly. I feel the deep sense of emptiness of that moment. As always, your words beautifully describe such a painful time, giving it the reverence it deserves. 💜
I love this image of your Dad’s soul roaring through the flames: “It burst forth with such magnificence that the hot, brick oven couldn’t contain it.” ...Fantasy or synchronicity? I like to think the latter.
Some things just instantly stir memories. So evocative and lovely. I will forever relate that smell of smoke with my late dad, who when I did smoke, let me know that he had always know and promptly offered me a cigarette. It was one of our only bonding experiences. Sometimes I catch a whiff in the air and I suspect he is nearby, that and any time I hear Neil Diamond play on the radio. 💫🙏
Our senses can be such portals into intimacy and memory. And I appreciate how a scent or sound is a fond embrace for one and acrid for another. Thank you for sharing a poignant memory of your dad with me.
Kimberly, again you've outdone yourself! beautiful writing I almost feel I am there.
"“To Dave,” they say, exhaling him into the late spring breeze. He twirls easily into nothingness while my lungs try to hold him near." A wonderful tribute to "Dave" and with his cigarettes.
I have so much to say about misunderstandings about grief -- and actually have written a lyric essay that is sort of circulating, but I doubt it will ever get published. What you do here enlightens, including with the Marlboros. We try so hard to breath in what is lost, don't we? Is this everyone's favorite memoir? Let's hear it for Kimberly!
Oh Kimberly, this was gorgeous. Your ability to summon the deep pains of longing and grief through words moves me to tears. It also made me want to squeeze you in solidarity. The pain of losing someone so dear and then transmuting it into such beauty is a gift that you possess masterfully. I love these pieces. Please don’t stop.
Well your wish to squeeze me was just felt through your beautiful words. Thank you Jenovia. I feel a kindred connection with you through our experiences of grief.
And I you! ❤️🔥
Beautiful, poetic, so evocative. You are a living tribute and Memorial to your father
Sara I can’t tell you how much your encouragement means to me. For some reason I was nervous to post this one (and I’m sure that will happen again and again) and you made me feel OK with the angst. 🌼
Jenovia recommended your substack to her subscribers, and the way she did so convinced me to check it out. I'm glad I did.
This is the first entry I've read. I found the way you related your father's passing just a month before you graduated from high school, and also intermingled the feelings, to be very moving. I saw a red warning light signaling that "these events should not be happening at the same time" along with the stark reality that life does not respect shoulds, sometimes. Matter-of-fact and poignant at the same time, you surely evoked a lot in me. Thank you for sharing your writing, and your life.
So true—life doesn't obey that "red warning light." For many years I tried to make sense of a senseless world; I suppose it's what we do when life has fallen from the illusion of our grip. So glad to have your here. Thank you Jenovia for bringing a kindred spirit into the hearth.
"I fantasize that when dad’s soul was released from its 49 year-old home, it burst forth with such magnificence that the hot, brick oven couldn’t contain it. He escaped the confines of mortal life with one hearty, flagrant roar." On the evening that my mom (also a force of nature) died, gale-force winds swept through town. I went into the hospital, and everything was calm; I left, and was literally blown over. It was a surreal experience, and this line about your dad's passing feels...eerily similar.
I am so glad to have found your writing. You don't waste a single word. I'm so looking forward to reading more. ❤️
You just sent chills up my spine. Stillness unfurling into gale-force winds as you mom's spirit exited her body. Wow. I'm quite happy with the mysterious forces of life and am grateful you have that memory to hold alongside your mother's passing. Beautiful.
My stepdad died the month I graduated from high school. It felt like an odd, surreal merger of two sides of growing up in the same moment: independence and loss. It's probably why I've thought about it more recently in my 40s. It was too much to process then. Thank you for sharing. Your writing captures so much.
I know exactly this feeling! "An odd, surreal merger of two sides of growing up in the same moment." I can't say I've ever met someone who shared this similar timing of events. I feel grateful for your presence and empathy here.
…and thank you for just becoming a paid subscriber! 🧡🌸
Your writing is beautiful! And relatable. This is the first post I read of yours but could tell you're about my age just from your teenage early-90s hair. I love your descriptive details and flowing thoughts. Looking forward to reading more of your work!
And I learned more about your advocacy work too. I can see how sharing voices and growing community can help now, while also helping move the needle forward. I work in an oncology / autoimmune clinic and know people with health challenges don't get enough support to help live through periods that often don't have fixed timelines. I admire what you're doing!
Daphne I can’t thank you enough for exploring the production work that I do. You’re so right, sharing patient narratives is very powerful, not just for the narrators but also their care teams, loved ones and other audience members. One of my colleagues Dr. Annie Brewster started an organization called Health Story Collaborative that was inspired by narrative medicine’s positive outcomes. Storytelling can be such an important tool, especially when patients are experiencing the isolation, disempowerment and hopelessness that are often part of the chronic illness journey. As an oncologist and autoimmune specialist I’m sure you see this first-hand quite frequently.
I’m so glad to have crossed paths with you and really look forward to exploring your essays and work as well. And side note, I was raised in Wisconsin and have such fond memories of Madison. 💛🌼
I would never encourage anyone to smoke, but as an ex-smoker, a cigarette toast to your father is sublime. 🚬
Marlboro Meds.🤣
“I have a sudden and secret impulse to hold every cigarette in my hands. I want to press them to my cheek, shove them in my mouth, make whatever is left of dad a part of me.”
So heartbreaking, Kimberly. I feel the deep sense of emptiness of that moment. As always, your words beautifully describe such a painful time, giving it the reverence it deserves. 💜
I love this image of your Dad’s soul roaring through the flames: “It burst forth with such magnificence that the hot, brick oven couldn’t contain it.” ...Fantasy or synchronicity? I like to think the latter.
Oh yes the latter!
Some things just instantly stir memories. So evocative and lovely. I will forever relate that smell of smoke with my late dad, who when I did smoke, let me know that he had always know and promptly offered me a cigarette. It was one of our only bonding experiences. Sometimes I catch a whiff in the air and I suspect he is nearby, that and any time I hear Neil Diamond play on the radio. 💫🙏
Our senses can be such portals into intimacy and memory. And I appreciate how a scent or sound is a fond embrace for one and acrid for another. Thank you for sharing a poignant memory of your dad with me.
Kimberly, again you've outdone yourself! beautiful writing I almost feel I am there.
"“To Dave,” they say, exhaling him into the late spring breeze. He twirls easily into nothingness while my lungs try to hold him near." A wonderful tribute to "Dave" and with his cigarettes.
Looking forward to your next chapters.
Rex
Thank you Rex! You'd like with an association like that, I'd have picked up smoking. ;)
Beautiful writing Kimberly, thank you.
I so appreciate you encouragement Satya! Truly.
I have so much to say about misunderstandings about grief -- and actually have written a lyric essay that is sort of circulating, but I doubt it will ever get published. What you do here enlightens, including with the Marlboros. We try so hard to breath in what is lost, don't we? Is this everyone's favorite memoir? Let's hear it for Kimberly!
Thank you for reading Baz!