I wonder if the universe said "no" from the literary magazines so that "Lifeboat" would become a book ... and reach more broken hearts who need it.
Lovely conversation, all of you. Mary was absolutely right to stop Alisa and ask her to share her story. Alisa: Those descriptions of epilepsy were a gift. My grandfather had epilepsy, much to the dismay of my grandmother and fear of my tiny mother, watching seizures as a child. I wish I could ask him what the seizures were like. Did he hear music? Did he choose life at every return? I don't expect anyone asked him what it was like, in those days. He died needlessly young as a result of my grandmother's faith in a self-proclaimed healer who was supposed to make his epilepsy go away. Of course, it was a long time before I heard any of this from my mother.
There are so many heartbreaks, and so many reasons why Kimberly's message of "Unfixed" and Mary's "Lifeboat" and Alisa's living example need to be in conversation with each other. Mary, I believe your "Lifeboat" has more ports to visit. Kimberly: Outstanding idea to bring these voices together. ❤️ Love to all of you.
Tara, with your eloquence you express the essence of this conversation that buoyed me like a small craft at sea. Your thoughts about your grandfather, difficult to share not doubt, reach across the worlds to Alisa and many others. Your words to me about the breadth and depth of this small essay do that as well. My heart to yours ~ Mary
Tara, your distillation of this conversation and all the intention behind it is quite profound. Clearly you clearly know your own heartbreak and the importance of sharing this human plight in conversation and community. Thank you for your depth of character and insight.
None of my story is meant to take away from Mary’s scarcely articulable grief, of course - but only to point out how “Lifeboat” and this conversation may have untold ripple effects — as I think you all know about the telling of any one, true human struggle. That grief makes a safe space for all grief - Mary’s spacious heart is profound.
It is unfathomable to me that not one literary magazine would take Mary’s piece, which is both a daring experiment with form and an exquisitely beautiful distillation of feeling. I read to feel my emotional capacity stretched and my mind challenged by the tension between the form and the feelings that break against it like a wave. “Lifeboat” was a rare, thrilling and heart-expanding ride. Thank you for this interview.
“I read to feel my emotional capacity stretched and my mind challenged by the tension between the form and the feelings that break against it like a wave.” - - Yes yes yes!!!! Rona, this is an extraordinary statement.
Rona, yes, the numerous rejections from that literary world that has so frequently published me tore a line of hope for me and that world. Even IMAGE, the gorgeous literary magazine of faith and art and that has published me three times in the past sent the form. So, what you say here renews my faith in deep and sensitive readers. And thus, after so many tries, I withdrew the essay from the literary magazine world and published it here. Rona, you amaze.
My take, as a former editor-in-chief: They are thinking about “an IMAGE story,” as opposed to a story that will break up the frozen sea in the reader. Here, it is all about the writer and the reader.
“I think we ought to only read the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we are reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for? So that it will make us happy …? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we had no books, and the kind of books that make us happy are the kind we could write ourselves if we had to. But we need the books that affect us like disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves. Like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us. That is my belief.”
Hard to believe that IMAGE could have changed so. I was sure it was the place for the essay--but a firm "no" was the response--that was one of the times when I almost completely gave up on ever placing it anywhere, including here. I thought the writing had failed.
Ladies, all of you amazing, I don't usually have time to listen to these interviews (Kimberly my apologies lovely lady) but the day is an uninviting misery of grey and damp so I leapt in before inevitable distractions found reason for me not to. And I am so glad I did.
I want to write something that expresses my thanks for all your deeply compassionate words but the screen is blurry with tears, deep breath...
Mary, "Lifeboat" was one of the purest pieces of writing I've read in a very long time, I wept, I smiled and wept again... If I could write one sentence with as much emotion delivered in such exquisite beauty, just once in my life time, I would rejoice. That you wrote these words drowning in a place of stark and unimaginable grief, to reach beyond and touch the point of almost no return and let yourself grieve freely in the flow, then return, shadowed by your beautiful son and tell about it, every word a poem, was/is an extraordinary and powerful strength, Thank you. Thank you all for sharing this profoundly beautiful interview here xxxx
A screen blurry with tears says it all Susie. And I second Mary. Your generosity in comments are such a pure reflection that open heart of yours that we all cherish.
The vulnerability and the strength of the human condition powerfully displayed by strong, resilient, compassionate and intelligent women. I'm so grateful you all shared your thoughts and feelings. Very powerful interview. Thank you.
Half way through this interview I had to go and read Mary’s essay for myself after all the lovely and heartfelt things you had all been saying. And wow. It’s so moving.
"The foundation is the choice to choose life." These wise words will echo in my heart for a very long time.
Kimberly, as always your skill in weaving an interview is amazing. You touch the heart place in your guest and take your readers on a worthwhile exploration. Mary, I am so glad your work found it's rightful place on Substack, I will be heading over there to read it. Sharing this is so important, not only because it helped you to heal, but because it offers the rest of us a deeper insight into how we can support someone's grief journey. What can we do or say when we don't know what to do or say. This is invaluable. Alisa and Veronika, thank you both for your contribution to this amazing conversation.
Holding space for this conversation was such a joy Donna, and throughout, I felt like that’s all I really needed to do—hold a space. Mary, Veronika and Alisa are all incredible humans and to feel their minds and hearts overlap was truly memorable.
You’re in for a ride if you haven’t already navigated over to Mary’s Lifeboat; it tears at the fabric of our being while simultaneously mends. ❤️
Kimberly and Donna, what a space you create for me, a space to believe in life and connection. You two and Alisa and Veronika and everyone who has commented, not just clicked a "like," you have done this for me. My heart to yours. I cannot say this last enough.
I am sitting here in my car feeling brought to tears by these comments. The word comments doesn’t work really, when what I mean is this outpouring of support that says , “We see your pain and, even though we cannot carry it, we can bear witness to it and when you share it with us you also offer US a lifeboat”.
I'm so glad, Donna, that you took the time to listen and then to go over to the essay. The interview experience was remarkable and Kimberly studies so deeply that it's moving to speak with her. Her idea to ask Alisa and Veronika to join was magic in the face of what I finally had the courage to post. I thank you from my heart.
on the surface for neophytes or newcomers this meeting of minds/souls stands on its own as embracing connective tissue but for those who have been previously exposed to each of your depths of feeling, ability to express, the beauty inside and out which accepts, beckons and mirrors both the sadness and laughter well it is especially gratifying 💫🙏
...and a reminder to listen to a few Elvis Costello songs today😘
Accepting and beckoning the sadness and the laughter is such a beautiful way to put it Appleton. Your dedication to Mary’s genius, my Unfixed work and all your other reads here on Substack is a testament to your magnanimous heart.
Thank you for this honest, heartfelt conversation. It gave me some insight into what my mother was going through when her only son (my younger brother) died of cancer in 2017. She kept all her grief inside, just as she'd be brought up to keep all her grief inside. I felt so bad for her. She comforted me in my grief, but that's as far as it went.
Liz, what a telling--that your mother kept the grief inside. Thus, the way that the silence is impenetrable when the grief should be given voice. Your words, your loss join me in the lifeboat that may save us. And then there's the commonality of the year 2017 when my son died. Love to you ... ~ Mary
absolutely! thank you again for creating this lifeboat, Mary!! 🛶 🙏
(and thank you Liz for joining us here)
Your words make me think of the power of impenetrable silence, how its impenetrability can silence us, can drown us...
Yes, grief should be given voice. My heart warms listening to all the voices you are calling forth, out of the silence, through your notes... amazing 💗🙏
The other thing I remember about that time is that I was an absolute blubbering mess during the funeral and the burial. Later, when my husband and I were getting ready to take my mother home, my sister-in-law pulled me aside and thanked me. When I asked her what for--all I did was cry--she said that my crying so openly gave her permission to grieve.
I remember being at my dad’s memorial and feeling relieved and held by the sound of other’s tears. My numb and shocked teen nervous system wasn’t yet capable of fully feeling the loss, but I leaned into other’s emotions to help show me the way.
Thank you for the additional insight, Kimberly. I know that people grieve differently, but it's good to know in what ways, so that I can be sensitive to them.
You are making such important points here, Liz, Kimberly, Mary...
People grieve differently, and to know more about that helps us be more sensitive to the grieving of others and our own.
In that vein, I'll add a snippet of my experience to this conversation.
When my youngest brother died in a diving accident in the Caribbean our whole family went into shock. The absolutely WORST comment I received was a suggestion that "perhaps he was murdered..."
The memory still makes me shiver and crumple up in exasperation. Talk about adding insult to injury.
The other difficult part was that there never was a real funeral. No true closure. He just went away, swam with dolphins, and never returned.
"He lived the life he wanted," people said, with 'uplifting smiles'.
As if that explained everything. As if that made it ok to die before celebrating your 24th birthday. Before welcoming your son, who was born 6 months after his father (my brother) died.
The comments are not only painful, but I would argue that on level in the category of unforgivable --though, with you, I know you found a way to find the comments as simply misguided--but doesn't explain away the pain inflicted. The loss of a brother, and adult child, the father of a small baby at the time ... the floating away. All this along with "uplifting smiles" --all this defines why we must find ways to throw a line to the lifeboat and not drown the person in theories or platitudes. Both are like drowning.
Thank you Mary. I totally agree. At the time I didn't understand anything about dealing with this situation. I didn't have the tools I have now. I was pregnant with my youngest daughter, griefstricken with the loss of my brother, and just recoiled into my inner protective shell.
I think people in general fully believed that grieving (mourning) is something to be gotten over and out of the way, the faster the better. That was part of the zeitgeist. Unbelievably, some (many?) folks still seem to believe this now and genuinely think their 'uplifting comments' are helping (and even feel rejected, if their 'help' is not acknowledged and appreciated...)
This is exactly why I feel so encouraged and heartened by the conversations we are having here. The lifeboat you have created, Mary. The lifeline we all need on occasion, to stay afloat and to learn to survive and live anew WITH the grief (which never goes away)
Ugh, the insensitivity of these comments Viktoria are inexcusable. I can understand and even have compassion for people not knowing what to say, but suggesting their own answer? Or trying to put a positive spin on such a horrendous experience? My heart aches for you and your family.
It was as if my life had ended, even though I didn't die.
So deep and so true. Grief is truly an ocean. It doesn’t go away, instead, we learn to walk with it.. at times carrying it, and other times, it carries us.
In the day of the 2-minute attention span, this interview is absorbing, profound, deeply moving and necessary. Grief is so poorly understood in our culture. We are met mostly with silence or even alienation. Well-intended attempts to empathize can fail to help much (as you noted, "sorry for your loss"). And some responses can even hurt ("he/she is in a better place"). What we need is the brave, open and beautifully rendered insight Mary gives us in "Lifeboat" and the sincere conversation and understanding that all of you have given us around it and around the meaning of grief. I was transfixed and helped. Thank you.
Kathleen! Your name popped up today on Substack and I thought, I know Kathleen! How could I ever forget her! You joined us for an MS Confidential episode a few years ago and offered such great insight and presence. I'm happy to have found you here. ;) And thank you for listening/reading this latest gutted sharing with the great Mary Tabor.
I haven't listened yet but I wanted to drop a comment in to say that I will be soon and I just know it'll be a moving and inspiring and emotional listen. I applaud all that you're all doing. Mary, your piece Lifeboat was breathtaking and honest and pure. I can't imagine the courage it took, and no doubt that applies here too.
(And, to be honest, I am finding it hard to sites that I want to me, including yours too. I've been so swamped of late with so many things that trying to keep up has become impossible and I've started to think of Substack and the many subscriptions I read as a fluid space where I can drift and surge and recede, like a tide. It's the only way I can make peace with myself with not being able to read everything I want to. x)
I so get this, Nathan. I have unsubscribed from a bunch that don't read me. I do think that a kind of quid pro quo needs to operate for those of us without a million subscribers (media stars and such) and we writers are also trying to create and need time for that. xo
Yeah, I do agree. It can be hard to keep that up, but the big draw for me early on on this platform was the community and the sense of back and forth and support.
Mary, I cannot tell you how moving this discussion was. It added depth and clarity to a story that is already exquisite: the lifeboat that rocks and holds us, your sorrow transformed into one of the loveliest essays I’ve ever read. I’ve read it through several times now and keep finding more layers of richness. It’s hard to understand why no literary journals would take it, that they sent you form rejections. I’m glad you found a home for it on Substack; you’re reaching those of us who have a difficult time finding a way around that very different world. Those five years of writing and polishing this jewel were in no way wasted. You’ve touched more lives than you can ever know. The Talmudic question. The lemon meringue pie. The deep pain of seeing your child clothed as if to go out and work outdoors, as if it were a normal day.
The pain of hearing “Sorry for your loss,” and - worse - “He’s in a better place now.” And the stunningly callous belief that grief has a shelf life, that beyond one year, it becomes a psychological disorder, or “complicated,” as if grief is a problem that one should be able to resolve through simple arithmetic.
Thank you again, Mary, for the gift of holding us once more in your lifeboat.
Oh Mary, such a close read and a close listening to this gift of a conversation. Your words about my essay in memory of my son, your words that lift out the parts of both that struck you mean so much to me from you--who is a writer who has found her way again after her own grief. We are joined. Love to you, dear Mary.
Can I tell you how beautiful this conversation is? You already know. You were there. Wow, what a gift. This is true, of course, because of your stunningly gorgeous Lifeboat, Mary. And it's true, of course, because of your deep reading and brilliant, tender interrogation of her offering, of her heart, Kimberly and Alisa. And it's true because of your loving presence, Veronika. But it's also true because it's such a wonderful example of the strength of women coming together to see each other fully, to pay attention to the details of each other's experiences and wisdom and hearts. The lines tossed between you all and to all of us who listened and read are substantial and profound.
Thank you, Mary, for sharing your grief and the art you made from it. Thank you, Kimberly for creating space for this conversation. And thank you, Alisa and Veronika for holding space.
Oh Holly, your powers of understanding and sight are remarkable. I feel seen, we feel seen. Your intellect and heart pierce right to the center of what matters. Thank you for your presence, your spirit, your seemingly endless ability to listen/read/write with profound attention to truth.
Three brilliant women. Thank you for this in depth conversation about Mary's essay about grief, and a balm for grief. The power of writing a deeply told truth.
Thank you for this connecting, moving conversation, brilliant, beautiful ladies! Mary, I resonated especially with the numbing when it comes to grief. Last year I lost too many loved ones in a span of a few months, and I was immovable, only barely doing the essentials. But eventually I found my way to come back again. We always have as humans, we always do. Of course the grief is all-encompassing, all ways lingering, but it also transforms, we transform it. Thank you. Much love and strength to you all!
Nadia, the words you speak here come straight from your heart and your losses over a short span of time: Of course you were "immovable"--the exact word for what happened to me after Ben's death. I am so glad we have found each other and I am thinking of you to write for me some time late in the new year for my other site: Inner Life, where I also posted "Lifeboat" --some thing I rarely do, meaning repeat an essay from my site, but you may do exactly that so that you don't have to write something new: here's the link, so that you see what we do there: https://innerlifecollaborative.substack.com --I will message my personal email to you so that we can chat about this soon. Love to you, Mary
I’m so glad to have connected with you, Mary (only connect hehe!). It seems that immovability is a reflex everyone goes through when it comes to grief, our own bodies protecting us from so much pain until we’re ready to feel it a little more. That’s how I see it. Oh wow, Mary, that is such a kind offering. I subscribed and will be following others’ stories.
I wonder if the universe said "no" from the literary magazines so that "Lifeboat" would become a book ... and reach more broken hearts who need it.
Lovely conversation, all of you. Mary was absolutely right to stop Alisa and ask her to share her story. Alisa: Those descriptions of epilepsy were a gift. My grandfather had epilepsy, much to the dismay of my grandmother and fear of my tiny mother, watching seizures as a child. I wish I could ask him what the seizures were like. Did he hear music? Did he choose life at every return? I don't expect anyone asked him what it was like, in those days. He died needlessly young as a result of my grandmother's faith in a self-proclaimed healer who was supposed to make his epilepsy go away. Of course, it was a long time before I heard any of this from my mother.
There are so many heartbreaks, and so many reasons why Kimberly's message of "Unfixed" and Mary's "Lifeboat" and Alisa's living example need to be in conversation with each other. Mary, I believe your "Lifeboat" has more ports to visit. Kimberly: Outstanding idea to bring these voices together. ❤️ Love to all of you.
Tara, with your eloquence you express the essence of this conversation that buoyed me like a small craft at sea. Your thoughts about your grandfather, difficult to share not doubt, reach across the worlds to Alisa and many others. Your words to me about the breadth and depth of this small essay do that as well. My heart to yours ~ Mary
Tara, your distillation of this conversation and all the intention behind it is quite profound. Clearly you clearly know your own heartbreak and the importance of sharing this human plight in conversation and community. Thank you for your depth of character and insight.
And I agree, onward Lifeboat! More ports indeed!
None of my story is meant to take away from Mary’s scarcely articulable grief, of course - but only to point out how “Lifeboat” and this conversation may have untold ripple effects — as I think you all know about the telling of any one, true human struggle. That grief makes a safe space for all grief - Mary’s spacious heart is profound.
It is unfathomable to me that not one literary magazine would take Mary’s piece, which is both a daring experiment with form and an exquisitely beautiful distillation of feeling. I read to feel my emotional capacity stretched and my mind challenged by the tension between the form and the feelings that break against it like a wave. “Lifeboat” was a rare, thrilling and heart-expanding ride. Thank you for this interview.
“I read to feel my emotional capacity stretched and my mind challenged by the tension between the form and the feelings that break against it like a wave.” - - Yes yes yes!!!! Rona, this is an extraordinary statement.
Indeed, Kimberly and Rona.
Rona, yes, the numerous rejections from that literary world that has so frequently published me tore a line of hope for me and that world. Even IMAGE, the gorgeous literary magazine of faith and art and that has published me three times in the past sent the form. So, what you say here renews my faith in deep and sensitive readers. And thus, after so many tries, I withdrew the essay from the literary magazine world and published it here. Rona, you amaze.
My take, as a former editor-in-chief: They are thinking about “an IMAGE story,” as opposed to a story that will break up the frozen sea in the reader. Here, it is all about the writer and the reader.
thank you for the explanation, Rona! A story that will break up the frozen sea in the reader. Yes. Isn't that what it's all about...
As Kafka wrote in 1904 to his friend Pollak:
“I think we ought to only read the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we are reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for? So that it will make us happy …? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we had no books, and the kind of books that make us happy are the kind we could write ourselves if we had to. But we need the books that affect us like disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves. Like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us. That is my belief.”
Hard to believe that IMAGE could have changed so. I was sure it was the place for the essay--but a firm "no" was the response--that was one of the times when I almost completely gave up on ever placing it anywhere, including here. I thought the writing had failed.
Ladies, all of you amazing, I don't usually have time to listen to these interviews (Kimberly my apologies lovely lady) but the day is an uninviting misery of grey and damp so I leapt in before inevitable distractions found reason for me not to. And I am so glad I did.
I want to write something that expresses my thanks for all your deeply compassionate words but the screen is blurry with tears, deep breath...
Mary, "Lifeboat" was one of the purest pieces of writing I've read in a very long time, I wept, I smiled and wept again... If I could write one sentence with as much emotion delivered in such exquisite beauty, just once in my life time, I would rejoice. That you wrote these words drowning in a place of stark and unimaginable grief, to reach beyond and touch the point of almost no return and let yourself grieve freely in the flow, then return, shadowed by your beautiful son and tell about it, every word a poem, was/is an extraordinary and powerful strength, Thank you. Thank you all for sharing this profoundly beautiful interview here xxxx
A screen blurry with tears says it all Susie. And I second Mary. Your generosity in comments are such a pure reflection that open heart of yours that we all cherish.
Susie, your words reach across time and place and hold me. Such generosity about the writing, let alone the grief, define you and your open heart.
The vulnerability and the strength of the human condition powerfully displayed by strong, resilient, compassionate and intelligent women. I'm so grateful you all shared your thoughts and feelings. Very powerful interview. Thank you.
Thank you for being with us Jonathan.
Jonathan, your words hold us all. We thank you for your sense of what you've heard or read here.
Half way through this interview I had to go and read Mary’s essay for myself after all the lovely and heartfelt things you had all been saying. And wow. It’s so moving.
Thank you.
Right? Thanks for taking the time to do so Michael. Mary's writing is profoundly moving. This piece, and all her other works as well. ;)
My thanks to you, Michael, for the kindness of your words here. Blessings ... ~ Mary
"The foundation is the choice to choose life." These wise words will echo in my heart for a very long time.
Kimberly, as always your skill in weaving an interview is amazing. You touch the heart place in your guest and take your readers on a worthwhile exploration. Mary, I am so glad your work found it's rightful place on Substack, I will be heading over there to read it. Sharing this is so important, not only because it helped you to heal, but because it offers the rest of us a deeper insight into how we can support someone's grief journey. What can we do or say when we don't know what to do or say. This is invaluable. Alisa and Veronika, thank you both for your contribution to this amazing conversation.
Holding space for this conversation was such a joy Donna, and throughout, I felt like that’s all I really needed to do—hold a space. Mary, Veronika and Alisa are all incredible humans and to feel their minds and hearts overlap was truly memorable.
You’re in for a ride if you haven’t already navigated over to Mary’s Lifeboat; it tears at the fabric of our being while simultaneously mends. ❤️
Kimberly and Donna, what a space you create for me, a space to believe in life and connection. You two and Alisa and Veronika and everyone who has commented, not just clicked a "like," you have done this for me. My heart to yours. I cannot say this last enough.
I am sitting here in my car feeling brought to tears by these comments. The word comments doesn’t work really, when what I mean is this outpouring of support that says , “We see your pain and, even though we cannot carry it, we can bear witness to it and when you share it with us you also offer US a lifeboat”.
I'm so glad, Donna, that you took the time to listen and then to go over to the essay. The interview experience was remarkable and Kimberly studies so deeply that it's moving to speak with her. Her idea to ask Alisa and Veronika to join was magic in the face of what I finally had the courage to post. I thank you from my heart.
on the surface for neophytes or newcomers this meeting of minds/souls stands on its own as embracing connective tissue but for those who have been previously exposed to each of your depths of feeling, ability to express, the beauty inside and out which accepts, beckons and mirrors both the sadness and laughter well it is especially gratifying 💫🙏
...and a reminder to listen to a few Elvis Costello songs today😘
Appleton, "connective tissue" -- indeed. Blessings, my virtual friend.
Accepting and beckoning the sadness and the laughter is such a beautiful way to put it Appleton. Your dedication to Mary’s genius, my Unfixed work and all your other reads here on Substack is a testament to your magnanimous heart.
Indeed, Kimberly and Appleton. Indeed!
Thank you for this honest, heartfelt conversation. It gave me some insight into what my mother was going through when her only son (my younger brother) died of cancer in 2017. She kept all her grief inside, just as she'd be brought up to keep all her grief inside. I felt so bad for her. She comforted me in my grief, but that's as far as it went.
Liz, what a telling--that your mother kept the grief inside. Thus, the way that the silence is impenetrable when the grief should be given voice. Your words, your loss join me in the lifeboat that may save us. And then there's the commonality of the year 2017 when my son died. Love to you ... ~ Mary
absolutely! thank you again for creating this lifeboat, Mary!! 🛶 🙏
(and thank you Liz for joining us here)
Your words make me think of the power of impenetrable silence, how its impenetrability can silence us, can drown us...
Yes, grief should be given voice. My heart warms listening to all the voices you are calling forth, out of the silence, through your notes... amazing 💗🙏
What a wonder you have been, Veronkia!💞💝
The other thing I remember about that time is that I was an absolute blubbering mess during the funeral and the burial. Later, when my husband and I were getting ready to take my mother home, my sister-in-law pulled me aside and thanked me. When I asked her what for--all I did was cry--she said that my crying so openly gave her permission to grieve.
I remember being at my dad’s memorial and feeling relieved and held by the sound of other’s tears. My numb and shocked teen nervous system wasn’t yet capable of fully feeling the loss, but I leaned into other’s emotions to help show me the way.
Thank you for the additional insight, Kimberly. I know that people grieve differently, but it's good to know in what ways, so that I can be sensitive to them.
This entire conversation: You, Liz and all others here open my heart more.
You are making such important points here, Liz, Kimberly, Mary...
People grieve differently, and to know more about that helps us be more sensitive to the grieving of others and our own.
In that vein, I'll add a snippet of my experience to this conversation.
When my youngest brother died in a diving accident in the Caribbean our whole family went into shock. The absolutely WORST comment I received was a suggestion that "perhaps he was murdered..."
The memory still makes me shiver and crumple up in exasperation. Talk about adding insult to injury.
The other difficult part was that there never was a real funeral. No true closure. He just went away, swam with dolphins, and never returned.
"He lived the life he wanted," people said, with 'uplifting smiles'.
As if that explained everything. As if that made it ok to die before celebrating your 24th birthday. Before welcoming your son, who was born 6 months after his father (my brother) died.
The comments are not only painful, but I would argue that on level in the category of unforgivable --though, with you, I know you found a way to find the comments as simply misguided--but doesn't explain away the pain inflicted. The loss of a brother, and adult child, the father of a small baby at the time ... the floating away. All this along with "uplifting smiles" --all this defines why we must find ways to throw a line to the lifeboat and not drown the person in theories or platitudes. Both are like drowning.
Thank you Mary. I totally agree. At the time I didn't understand anything about dealing with this situation. I didn't have the tools I have now. I was pregnant with my youngest daughter, griefstricken with the loss of my brother, and just recoiled into my inner protective shell.
I think people in general fully believed that grieving (mourning) is something to be gotten over and out of the way, the faster the better. That was part of the zeitgeist. Unbelievably, some (many?) folks still seem to believe this now and genuinely think their 'uplifting comments' are helping (and even feel rejected, if their 'help' is not acknowledged and appreciated...)
This is exactly why I feel so encouraged and heartened by the conversations we are having here. The lifeboat you have created, Mary. The lifeline we all need on occasion, to stay afloat and to learn to survive and live anew WITH the grief (which never goes away)
Veronika, I'm also going to send you a private message about all this. So check your DMs when you have a chance.
Ugh, the insensitivity of these comments Viktoria are inexcusable. I can understand and even have compassion for people not knowing what to say, but suggesting their own answer? Or trying to put a positive spin on such a horrendous experience? My heart aches for you and your family.
Oh, Veronika, what a painful memory to live with. My heart goes out to you.
Another beautiful interview Kimberly. Thank you.
Mary’s words:
It was as if my life had ended, even though I didn't die.
So deep and so true. Grief is truly an ocean. It doesn’t go away, instead, we learn to walk with it.. at times carrying it, and other times, it carries us.
Thank you for being in the lifeboat with us Teyani. x
It’s a wonderful group of souls here.
Indeed, so true. And so glad to have connected with you, Teyani.
How lovely of you, Teyani, to quote my own words and to give me hope and heart .
In the day of the 2-minute attention span, this interview is absorbing, profound, deeply moving and necessary. Grief is so poorly understood in our culture. We are met mostly with silence or even alienation. Well-intended attempts to empathize can fail to help much (as you noted, "sorry for your loss"). And some responses can even hurt ("he/she is in a better place"). What we need is the brave, open and beautifully rendered insight Mary gives us in "Lifeboat" and the sincere conversation and understanding that all of you have given us around it and around the meaning of grief. I was transfixed and helped. Thank you.
Oh, Del, What an empathic comment. I thank you so from my heart to yours and to Kimberly, Alisa and Veronika. What a gift in the sea of loss. 💕
Thank you for this.
How lovely of you, Kathleen.
Kathleen! Your name popped up today on Substack and I thought, I know Kathleen! How could I ever forget her! You joined us for an MS Confidential episode a few years ago and offered such great insight and presence. I'm happy to have found you here. ;) And thank you for listening/reading this latest gutted sharing with the great Mary Tabor.
We travel apart, yet always together❤️🩹💃🏽🩵
I haven't listened yet but I wanted to drop a comment in to say that I will be soon and I just know it'll be a moving and inspiring and emotional listen. I applaud all that you're all doing. Mary, your piece Lifeboat was breathtaking and honest and pure. I can't imagine the courage it took, and no doubt that applies here too.
Oh, Nathan, Thank you so for the kind words and the support. Back to your site soon! xo
Never any hurry, Mary. It doesn't go anywhere.
(And, to be honest, I am finding it hard to sites that I want to me, including yours too. I've been so swamped of late with so many things that trying to keep up has become impossible and I've started to think of Substack and the many subscriptions I read as a fluid space where I can drift and surge and recede, like a tide. It's the only way I can make peace with myself with not being able to read everything I want to. x)
I so get this, Nathan. I have unsubscribed from a bunch that don't read me. I do think that a kind of quid pro quo needs to operate for those of us without a million subscribers (media stars and such) and we writers are also trying to create and need time for that. xo
Yeah, I do agree. It can be hard to keep that up, but the big draw for me early on on this platform was the community and the sense of back and forth and support.
Mary, I cannot tell you how moving this discussion was. It added depth and clarity to a story that is already exquisite: the lifeboat that rocks and holds us, your sorrow transformed into one of the loveliest essays I’ve ever read. I’ve read it through several times now and keep finding more layers of richness. It’s hard to understand why no literary journals would take it, that they sent you form rejections. I’m glad you found a home for it on Substack; you’re reaching those of us who have a difficult time finding a way around that very different world. Those five years of writing and polishing this jewel were in no way wasted. You’ve touched more lives than you can ever know. The Talmudic question. The lemon meringue pie. The deep pain of seeing your child clothed as if to go out and work outdoors, as if it were a normal day.
The pain of hearing “Sorry for your loss,” and - worse - “He’s in a better place now.” And the stunningly callous belief that grief has a shelf life, that beyond one year, it becomes a psychological disorder, or “complicated,” as if grief is a problem that one should be able to resolve through simple arithmetic.
Thank you again, Mary, for the gift of holding us once more in your lifeboat.
Oh Mary, such a close read and a close listening to this gift of a conversation. Your words about my essay in memory of my son, your words that lift out the parts of both that struck you mean so much to me from you--who is a writer who has found her way again after her own grief. We are joined. Love to you, dear Mary.
Joined at the heart, forever. Love to you.❤️
Can I tell you how beautiful this conversation is? You already know. You were there. Wow, what a gift. This is true, of course, because of your stunningly gorgeous Lifeboat, Mary. And it's true, of course, because of your deep reading and brilliant, tender interrogation of her offering, of her heart, Kimberly and Alisa. And it's true because of your loving presence, Veronika. But it's also true because it's such a wonderful example of the strength of women coming together to see each other fully, to pay attention to the details of each other's experiences and wisdom and hearts. The lines tossed between you all and to all of us who listened and read are substantial and profound.
Thank you, Mary, for sharing your grief and the art you made from it. Thank you, Kimberly for creating space for this conversation. And thank you, Alisa and Veronika for holding space.
Oh Holly, your powers of understanding and sight are remarkable. I feel seen, we feel seen. Your intellect and heart pierce right to the center of what matters. Thank you for your presence, your spirit, your seemingly endless ability to listen/read/write with profound attention to truth.
♥️♥️♥️
Thank you Holly for reading, listening, witnessing, seeing, and becoming part of this conversation. A true gift as well 💗🙏 🛶
♥️♥️♥️
Three brilliant women. Thank you for this in depth conversation about Mary's essay about grief, and a balm for grief. The power of writing a deeply told truth.
Eloquent, empathic, brief and poetic. My heart to yours, Deb!
Thank you for this connecting, moving conversation, brilliant, beautiful ladies! Mary, I resonated especially with the numbing when it comes to grief. Last year I lost too many loved ones in a span of a few months, and I was immovable, only barely doing the essentials. But eventually I found my way to come back again. We always have as humans, we always do. Of course the grief is all-encompassing, all ways lingering, but it also transforms, we transform it. Thank you. Much love and strength to you all!
Nadia, the words you speak here come straight from your heart and your losses over a short span of time: Of course you were "immovable"--the exact word for what happened to me after Ben's death. I am so glad we have found each other and I am thinking of you to write for me some time late in the new year for my other site: Inner Life, where I also posted "Lifeboat" --some thing I rarely do, meaning repeat an essay from my site, but you may do exactly that so that you don't have to write something new: here's the link, so that you see what we do there: https://innerlifecollaborative.substack.com --I will message my personal email to you so that we can chat about this soon. Love to you, Mary
I’m so glad to have connected with you, Mary (only connect hehe!). It seems that immovability is a reflex everyone goes through when it comes to grief, our own bodies protecting us from so much pain until we’re ready to feel it a little more. That’s how I see it. Oh wow, Mary, that is such a kind offering. I subscribed and will be following others’ stories.