Thank you for opening up your soul and telling this story. I’m so sorry for what you carried through the years. My Dad died Thanksgiving Day 1971 and I so resonated with your grief 🙏🙏
My mom died of cancer the day after her birthday, she was 51, I was 26. We knew she was leaving us and yet I had to do something for her on her birthday. I bought her a stuffed animal, something soft and tactile she could pet and cuddle for what would be her last 24 hours. She only knew 1 of her 4 grandchildren, my oldest son, and then only briefly. The fury was nearly a living thing. It was directed everywhere, especially at myself. Because, I'd made it my job to be her cheerleader, to transfer as much of my positivity to her as I could. It wasn't enough. She fell into depression and despair despite my efforts, and because of that I'd failed her. I had one job you see. 22 years, and a lot of life later, the wounds have scarred, some days though, the grief taps me on the shoulder, reminding me it's never very far away. The days I think of all she's missed, all I was robbed of, like you, the kernel is still there. Peace to you.
This is a precious story to read. When my son died 9 years ago, I heard 3 different stories, from his 3 brothers, about how each of them were at fault. It seems like if it’s not a cake, we find a way to blame ourselves. Thank you for sharing this story.
Those conclusions we draw in that moment have incredible staying power. For you, it was a cake. In my case, my dad’s last words to me were something along the lines of “I think I’m getting a cold.” 30 minutes later he was having a massive heart attack on our kitchen floor. For years (and maybe still, tbh) every time I felt that first hint of a cold, I wondered; is this it?
Thank you for being honest about grief. My dad died in 2022 and sometimes I am angry about it. Even with therapy, which is probably why I can admit I’m angry about it. I almost crave the honesty about grief now because of how open and raw grief makes me.
Letting go of that emotion is crucial. It really is. I held onto it for a long long time. My father was amazing, my mother was one. Doubled edged sword for me. And so, with respect to the latter, I fucked up pretty hugely while holding on to both. That churned this bullshit to happen - https://thistleandmoss.com/p/my-house-of-pain-published-chapters
Thank you for opening up your soul and telling this story. I’m so sorry for what you carried through the years. My Dad died Thanksgiving Day 1971 and I so resonated with your grief 🙏🙏
My mom died of cancer the day after her birthday, she was 51, I was 26. We knew she was leaving us and yet I had to do something for her on her birthday. I bought her a stuffed animal, something soft and tactile she could pet and cuddle for what would be her last 24 hours. She only knew 1 of her 4 grandchildren, my oldest son, and then only briefly. The fury was nearly a living thing. It was directed everywhere, especially at myself. Because, I'd made it my job to be her cheerleader, to transfer as much of my positivity to her as I could. It wasn't enough. She fell into depression and despair despite my efforts, and because of that I'd failed her. I had one job you see. 22 years, and a lot of life later, the wounds have scarred, some days though, the grief taps me on the shoulder, reminding me it's never very far away. The days I think of all she's missed, all I was robbed of, like you, the kernel is still there. Peace to you.
Oh, Tammy. 💙💙 I'm so sorry. Years can pass and then some moments it just all comes flooding back, fresh as yesterday.
This is a precious story to read. When my son died 9 years ago, I heard 3 different stories, from his 3 brothers, about how each of them were at fault. It seems like if it’s not a cake, we find a way to blame ourselves. Thank you for sharing this story.
Those conclusions we draw in that moment have incredible staying power. For you, it was a cake. In my case, my dad’s last words to me were something along the lines of “I think I’m getting a cold.” 30 minutes later he was having a massive heart attack on our kitchen floor. For years (and maybe still, tbh) every time I felt that first hint of a cold, I wondered; is this it?
Oh, Kevin. Big hugs to you! ❤️
Thank you for being honest about grief. My dad died in 2022 and sometimes I am angry about it. Even with therapy, which is probably why I can admit I’m angry about it. I almost crave the honesty about grief now because of how open and raw grief makes me.
Thank you, Janelle. It's strange how the raw pain of grief can make us feel somehow alive and aware, isn't it?
Absolutely. It’s a propellant force that also freezes you because how can you move forward when you know. But you keep moving and living anyway.
Powerful.
Beautifully said.
❤️❤️❤️🩹❤️🩹
Letting go of that emotion is crucial. It really is. I held onto it for a long long time. My father was amazing, my mother was one. Doubled edged sword for me. And so, with respect to the latter, I fucked up pretty hugely while holding on to both. That churned this bullshit to happen - https://thistleandmoss.com/p/my-house-of-pain-published-chapters
Dont read that by the way.