“So once again the insides of me are shaken like a snow globe, and the odd lumps of old grief and new grief and medium-aged grief haven’t yet drifted back down to their quieter state.”
This is an oh-so-perfect description of grief. 2026 has been a swirling snow globe of griefs. Glad for your hectic but wonderful time of having both boys home for a bit. May your snowflakes settle for a while in peacefulness.
I am so sorry you are missing your boys so much. Whenever all of mine are together, I know I begin to miss them almost before they are gone. And they take my precious grandchildren with them when they leave. That sudden silence is painful. But I’ve found life goes on and it’s important for me to do what makes me happiest. Right now, I’m vacationing in my happy place, watching the gentle rock of the sailboats. The bells of the white church across the bay just rang 3 times, and I can hear two fishermen comparing notes about their day’s catch. Life is wonderful!
You paint a lulling picture. I hear slapping of the lines against the masts, the waters against the hulls. And I know what you mean about missing them before they’ve barely landed, the kids we call our own. ❤️❤️
Barbara, Emptynestitis is always painful and deserves to be grieved. No one type is wimpier than another. All similar wherever there is loss or change. Your words are always so masterful. Fondly, Michael
oh my...you lead us through the hollows, deeper into the chasm of grief, as though down to Hades and then back. A hero's journey.
It is true, "grief never wholly leaves." It is harrowing, but so it is worthy to take the time to sit with that grief, to be with it fully, neither to rush past, nor avoid, as thought it were nothing.
So then you came out the other side, quoting Annie Dillard, "Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you.”
The power of writing is that your journey becomes our journey, for just a moment. But you hold attention so rapt that we, too, are brought to the edge. Which leads to our more full understanding. Time always well spent, pulling up a chair, here, on Friday mornings.
"So once again the insides of me are shaken like a snow globe, and the odd lumps of old grief and new grief and medium-aged grief haven’t yet drifted back down to their quieter state. Plain and simple, I am not only missing my boys, but seeing clearly my place on my timeline. And I know I’m farther along than I wish I was. I love every morsel of this whole blessed life—even the hard parts. I don’t want it to end. Not yet anyway."
love this whole piece, but there are so many wonderful bits. The snow globe. The image of all four in your house at the table together. The grain of joy at the end mingling with the grains of grief. It's a big grain--the biggest. I'm SO GLAD you had this wonderful time with them this summer.
It’s so strange how a quiet house can feel so loud all at once. you put it into words in a way that feels heavy right in the center of the chest, but it's just…such a true, beautiful reflection of loving people this fiercely….Sending you so much warmth and quiet strength right now.
“So once again the insides of me are shaken like a snow globe, and the odd lumps of old grief and new grief and medium-aged grief haven’t yet drifted back down to their quieter state.”
This is an oh-so-perfect description of grief. 2026 has been a swirling snow globe of griefs. Glad for your hectic but wonderful time of having both boys home for a bit. May your snowflakes settle for a while in peacefulness.
bless you. and love you.
I am so sorry you are missing your boys so much. Whenever all of mine are together, I know I begin to miss them almost before they are gone. And they take my precious grandchildren with them when they leave. That sudden silence is painful. But I’ve found life goes on and it’s important for me to do what makes me happiest. Right now, I’m vacationing in my happy place, watching the gentle rock of the sailboats. The bells of the white church across the bay just rang 3 times, and I can hear two fishermen comparing notes about their day’s catch. Life is wonderful!
You paint a lulling picture. I hear slapping of the lines against the masts, the waters against the hulls. And I know what you mean about missing them before they’ve barely landed, the kids we call our own. ❤️❤️
Barbara, Emptynestitis is always painful and deserves to be grieved. No one type is wimpier than another. All similar wherever there is loss or change. Your words are always so masterful. Fondly, Michael
Bless you, sweet M.
oh my...you lead us through the hollows, deeper into the chasm of grief, as though down to Hades and then back. A hero's journey.
It is true, "grief never wholly leaves." It is harrowing, but so it is worthy to take the time to sit with that grief, to be with it fully, neither to rush past, nor avoid, as thought it were nothing.
So then you came out the other side, quoting Annie Dillard, "Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you.”
The power of writing is that your journey becomes our journey, for just a moment. But you hold attention so rapt that we, too, are brought to the edge. Which leads to our more full understanding. Time always well spent, pulling up a chair, here, on Friday mornings.
Oh my goodness, this is a beautiful post. Sending you hugs, my friend!
You are SUCH a love….
"If any role in my life is one I’d call holy, it’s being a mother."
Thank you for your beautiful heart, for being honest and vulnerable with us, for putting our own feelings and thoughts on paper so eloquently.
oh, gracious, bless you. it is always scary to put it “out there,” but my heart seems not to take no for an answer, and so i say yes when so pulled…..
"So once again the insides of me are shaken like a snow globe, and the odd lumps of old grief and new grief and medium-aged grief haven’t yet drifted back down to their quieter state. Plain and simple, I am not only missing my boys, but seeing clearly my place on my timeline. And I know I’m farther along than I wish I was. I love every morsel of this whole blessed life—even the hard parts. I don’t want it to end. Not yet anyway."
Yes, even the hard parts are so beautiful
indeed they all are......
love this whole piece, but there are so many wonderful bits. The snow globe. The image of all four in your house at the table together. The grain of joy at the end mingling with the grains of grief. It's a big grain--the biggest. I'm SO GLAD you had this wonderful time with them this summer.
Thanks, beautiful❤️
It’s so strange how a quiet house can feel so loud all at once. you put it into words in a way that feels heavy right in the center of the chest, but it's just…such a true, beautiful reflection of loving people this fiercely….Sending you so much warmth and quiet strength right now.
Bless you, bless you. When we write the truth, the door to many opens, non?