I am very sorry for your loss. Thank you for this beautiful tribute and reflection. In my experience, losing a beloved one is first a terror that I won't or can't survive without them. But then worse, a slow, unfolding nightmare that I might. I don't believe time heals. When you lose someone who is beloved, the pain lasts the rest of your life. My father in his 90s said he still often missed his father. Grief and loss last a lifetime when there is deep love. That kind of love never dies. The love you have for your Abuela and your Abuela's love for you will be with you all your days. May her memory forever be a blessing. 🙏🏽
Holding you to the light, friend. This is a moving tribute to your Abuela. I'm with you - I don't want to take the sting from death. I think we're supposed to feel it. 🖤
Weeping in solidarity, weeping in community, sharing your grief, mixing it with my own, understanding your loss as it mirrors the sadness I thought was uniquely mine, but somehow must be universal. Her name was Florentina. My Mama, her youngest daughter, named me Florina after her. I somehow thought that put me next in lineage, more her daughter than granddaughter. She was denied an education, writing only an X as a signature. When I learned in second grade, I taught her. There isn't a day that she isn't with me, rarely a new person doesn't ask about my name, allowing me to bring her into present tense again. She is as much my name, as my language, my faith, my food, my strength, my humor, my self.
My mother died over the summer. The first six months were harder than I expected: every day I would forget she was dead and think about calling or texting her. This kind of daily revealing was always brief, lasting seconds, but felt like fresh wounds every time. Now I don't forget most days, but knowing this is the first spring without her... I don't push the grief away; I let it wash over me. Condolences Kat, to you and all who loved her. Memory eternal.
Hey Dan. I am so, so sorry for your loss. There have been moments in the last week that I forget too and I wonder to myself, “why do I feel so sad?” before it hits me. Sending love to you and to the memory of your mom. Thank you for sharing this.
You will never lose her. She is in your DNA and in your heart forever. My mother died when I was 30 - over 35 years now unbelievably gone - but I still remember the way her hands felt, her laugh, her smile, her making me feel more special than anyone, the sound of her voice and much more. You will carry her with you forever. I'm so sorry for your loss. The price of love can sometimes be very hard.
Words are only representative of thoughts and ideas. Tools we use to try our best to communicate. But I think grief, in so many ways, is a reality beyond words. If not, I might try to find words that could stretch from my empathy to your ache, bringing healing and comfort. All we can do is offer to hold one another’s hand in the dark. So here’s mine…
This is so special and so meaningful. Thank you so much. And you are right, it is beyond words, and I think there is something subtly profound about that. I appreciate you.
Oh, Kat. I'm so sorry for the loss of your abuela. Her legacy lives on through your writing, your life, and I'm sure your littles as well. Holding space as you feel all the things. Thanks for sharing with us.
I want to have a last conversation with my mother, to ask her to clear questions I have, but it is too late. Her mind no longer works. I left it too late because I was too busy being angry with her, disagreeing with her. I will carry this mistake for the rest of my days.
I read Abuelita Faith last week, over the day on which your Abuela was dying, of course unbeknownst to me. Her influence is already outliving her. Thank you for sharing her and your words with us.
I am so sorry sweet one! This is unimaginable pain. I am getting older and have been a single mama. Me and my girl love each other so much! I fear this happening to her, and the fear is so tangible it stops me in my tracks. Much love and grieve well, I love your work!!!🌸😢
My Papa (my father's father) passed away on March 31st. I am so sorry that we are both grieving, but I hope you can be comforted by knowing that you are not alone, and that your courage in showing your grief helped me feel less alone. May God bless your family in this time and give your kids wisdom to be comforted and help comfort you.
As with all the other commenters I offer you words and prayers for consolation. I am always awed by the holy depths of grief that accompany authentic love. I did not experience family love growing up and have no experience of grief for the death of the beloved flesh of my flesh, although I am 76 years old and members of my birth family have died. As a wife, mother and grandmother I continue to thrill to the blessing of family love in addition to that of deep friendship. I fear the terror that Brett Nelson identifies while also knowing that life’s full journey is incomplete without it. All who have suffered losses rooted in deep love are admirable to me; your ability to share your grief is a holy gift. Ann Cronin
Thank you, Ann. What a blessing to have not felt it deeply yet. I resonate with that, as this is my first true loss like this and I feel grateful that it is. Stepping into this space for the first time is such a profound experience. Thank you for sharing here so honestly and vulnerably, and I appreciate your condolences. Sending you love and more years of health and life 🖤
I'm so sorry. When we lost my dad 2 and a half years ago there was a long period of time that I didn't want to be in a place he wasn't. I didn't like "here" anymore. I've come to accept some things, but yes I have a relationship with the cardinal that shows up and looks me in the eye and eats my berries with my dad's expression.
He had hallucinations toward the end and they were fantastic. His dad died 55 years ago and they had a difficult relationship. But he was so anxious to see him again. His brothers had died. One day he motioned to my sister and me that he saw steps rising. I asked, "who's at the top? Uncle Gary?" and he nodded vigorously with tears in his eyes. I don't know how any of this works but when I miss him (all the time) I remember these moments and thank God the space between us is hopefully not as vast as it feels like.
I'm grateful for your strong relationship with your abuela and I pray your connection with her remains as strong.
Oh Elizabeth, thank you for sharing this. My body flooded with goosebumps! What a beautiful story. I love that the hallucinations were so healing and so life giving! Toward the end of her life Abuela would just repeat phrases from songs over and over again and they were so profound. I am so incredibly sorry for the loss of your dad. That cardinal is an absolute gift. I am so grateful you have that small joy and reminder of his love that did not and will not go away. Sending you so much love🖤
Thank you, Kat, for describing so clearly--and sharing so transparently--the distinction between the public part and the private part of grief. As a society, we rush through both, and fail to honor and extrapolate their vital importance (though thank goodness there is a cultural script we all tend to use for the public portion). Then you took us into your heart of hearts by showing that private / personal grief takes incredible work, deep reflection, and belongs uniquely to us as individuals who remain behind, for now. Into the woods we must go.
“Into the woods we must go”—thank you, Damon. Yes, that is both a physical and metaphorical thing; both personal and private. Grief is so profound. Like you said, it takes work and reflection. Thank you for pointing that out and for sharing here. I appreciate your words.
I am very sorry for your loss. Thank you for this beautiful tribute and reflection. In my experience, losing a beloved one is first a terror that I won't or can't survive without them. But then worse, a slow, unfolding nightmare that I might. I don't believe time heals. When you lose someone who is beloved, the pain lasts the rest of your life. My father in his 90s said he still often missed his father. Grief and loss last a lifetime when there is deep love. That kind of love never dies. The love you have for your Abuela and your Abuela's love for you will be with you all your days. May her memory forever be a blessing. 🙏🏽
Wow, Brett. This is profound. A terror and then an unfolding nightmare- what a visceral and honest reflection. Thank you so much.
You’re welcome. Thank you for inviting us to be part of your sacred journey.
Holding you to the light, friend. This is a moving tribute to your Abuela. I'm with you - I don't want to take the sting from death. I think we're supposed to feel it. 🖤
I appreciate you🖤
Weeping in solidarity, weeping in community, sharing your grief, mixing it with my own, understanding your loss as it mirrors the sadness I thought was uniquely mine, but somehow must be universal. Her name was Florentina. My Mama, her youngest daughter, named me Florina after her. I somehow thought that put me next in lineage, more her daughter than granddaughter. She was denied an education, writing only an X as a signature. When I learned in second grade, I taught her. There isn't a day that she isn't with me, rarely a new person doesn't ask about my name, allowing me to bring her into present tense again. She is as much my name, as my language, my faith, my food, my strength, my humor, my self.
Deepest condolences. Lo siento, Mija.
Florina, this is breathtaking. Your story brought tears to me eyes. How special. Thank you so much for sharing. Sending love to you and your abuelita🖤
My mother died over the summer. The first six months were harder than I expected: every day I would forget she was dead and think about calling or texting her. This kind of daily revealing was always brief, lasting seconds, but felt like fresh wounds every time. Now I don't forget most days, but knowing this is the first spring without her... I don't push the grief away; I let it wash over me. Condolences Kat, to you and all who loved her. Memory eternal.
Hey Dan. I am so, so sorry for your loss. There have been moments in the last week that I forget too and I wonder to myself, “why do I feel so sad?” before it hits me. Sending love to you and to the memory of your mom. Thank you for sharing this.
I am so sorry for your loss. I am grateful for what she was able to pass onto you that you are now able to share with so many around the world.
Thank you so much. I feel similarly 🖤
You will never lose her. She is in your DNA and in your heart forever. My mother died when I was 30 - over 35 years now unbelievably gone - but I still remember the way her hands felt, her laugh, her smile, her making me feel more special than anyone, the sound of her voice and much more. You will carry her with you forever. I'm so sorry for your loss. The price of love can sometimes be very hard.
This is so beautiful to read. Thank you.
Words are only representative of thoughts and ideas. Tools we use to try our best to communicate. But I think grief, in so many ways, is a reality beyond words. If not, I might try to find words that could stretch from my empathy to your ache, bringing healing and comfort. All we can do is offer to hold one another’s hand in the dark. So here’s mine…
This is so special and so meaningful. Thank you so much. And you are right, it is beyond words, and I think there is something subtly profound about that. I appreciate you.
Oh, Kat. I'm so sorry for the loss of your abuela. Her legacy lives on through your writing, your life, and I'm sure your littles as well. Holding space as you feel all the things. Thanks for sharing with us.
Oh Rachel, thank you. This is so meaningful to me. Amen to all of it.
💜💜
I want to have a last conversation with my mother, to ask her to clear questions I have, but it is too late. Her mind no longer works. I left it too late because I was too busy being angry with her, disagreeing with her. I will carry this mistake for the rest of my days.
Kat—I am so, so sorry to hear about your loss.
I read Abuelita Faith last week, over the day on which your Abuela was dying, of course unbeknownst to me. Her influence is already outliving her. Thank you for sharing her and your words with us.
I am so sorry sweet one! This is unimaginable pain. I am getting older and have been a single mama. Me and my girl love each other so much! I fear this happening to her, and the fear is so tangible it stops me in my tracks. Much love and grieve well, I love your work!!!🌸😢
My Papa (my father's father) passed away on March 31st. I am so sorry that we are both grieving, but I hope you can be comforted by knowing that you are not alone, and that your courage in showing your grief helped me feel less alone. May God bless your family in this time and give your kids wisdom to be comforted and help comfort you.
As with all the other commenters I offer you words and prayers for consolation. I am always awed by the holy depths of grief that accompany authentic love. I did not experience family love growing up and have no experience of grief for the death of the beloved flesh of my flesh, although I am 76 years old and members of my birth family have died. As a wife, mother and grandmother I continue to thrill to the blessing of family love in addition to that of deep friendship. I fear the terror that Brett Nelson identifies while also knowing that life’s full journey is incomplete without it. All who have suffered losses rooted in deep love are admirable to me; your ability to share your grief is a holy gift. Ann Cronin
Thank you, Ann. What a blessing to have not felt it deeply yet. I resonate with that, as this is my first true loss like this and I feel grateful that it is. Stepping into this space for the first time is such a profound experience. Thank you for sharing here so honestly and vulnerably, and I appreciate your condolences. Sending you love and more years of health and life 🖤
I'm so sorry. When we lost my dad 2 and a half years ago there was a long period of time that I didn't want to be in a place he wasn't. I didn't like "here" anymore. I've come to accept some things, but yes I have a relationship with the cardinal that shows up and looks me in the eye and eats my berries with my dad's expression.
He had hallucinations toward the end and they were fantastic. His dad died 55 years ago and they had a difficult relationship. But he was so anxious to see him again. His brothers had died. One day he motioned to my sister and me that he saw steps rising. I asked, "who's at the top? Uncle Gary?" and he nodded vigorously with tears in his eyes. I don't know how any of this works but when I miss him (all the time) I remember these moments and thank God the space between us is hopefully not as vast as it feels like.
I'm grateful for your strong relationship with your abuela and I pray your connection with her remains as strong.
Oh Elizabeth, thank you for sharing this. My body flooded with goosebumps! What a beautiful story. I love that the hallucinations were so healing and so life giving! Toward the end of her life Abuela would just repeat phrases from songs over and over again and they were so profound. I am so incredibly sorry for the loss of your dad. That cardinal is an absolute gift. I am so grateful you have that small joy and reminder of his love that did not and will not go away. Sending you so much love🖤
Thank you, Kat, for describing so clearly--and sharing so transparently--the distinction between the public part and the private part of grief. As a society, we rush through both, and fail to honor and extrapolate their vital importance (though thank goodness there is a cultural script we all tend to use for the public portion). Then you took us into your heart of hearts by showing that private / personal grief takes incredible work, deep reflection, and belongs uniquely to us as individuals who remain behind, for now. Into the woods we must go.
“Into the woods we must go”—thank you, Damon. Yes, that is both a physical and metaphorical thing; both personal and private. Grief is so profound. Like you said, it takes work and reflection. Thank you for pointing that out and for sharing here. I appreciate your words.