Did you hear us howling? Like the coyotes who call in the middle of the night. The biologists say it’s more a roll call than anything. Each of them reporting in, “I’m here, I’m here”.
A missing member signals the coyote to start breeding. Make up for lost pups. It’s not that simple in our animal kingdom, is it? There is no making up for you. No increasing our numbers to ensure our survival. Our survival isn’t ensured. Even our next breath isn’t ensured. Maybe our bodies, fed up with the weight of our despair will revolt - not another step until you lighten our load. But we can’t do that, we are captive to this nightmare and in this nightmare, we trudge, bent forward, eyes to the ground, dragging our despair on our backs.
Us crumpled on the floor, calling out in the night. Wails of agonizing wretchedness. Calling out, calling out, calling out. “Are you there?” No answer came.
Are you there? Are you there?
Did you hear me in the forest yesterday? I sang to you. I felt a bit odd and thought you probably wouldn’t like my singing even if you could hear it. I don’t know if you can, but it’s all I got. I got me talking to you and hoping that you can hear. I have my belief that where you are now is bigger and more beautiful than anything my limited, physical existence could comprehend. I have the image of you being held by our glorious God, Creator of life and beauty, Creator of the tortoise and the lilacs, Creator of you - our shining glory. The brilliance that found us worthy of you, now covering and filling you in a peace and love, we, and this world, could not.
And then that all goes. Not thoughts that fade, but feelings that quite literally implode. Gone. And suddenly I am back, curled around your stuffed elephant, “Big, Trusted Friend”, cursing the injustice of this world. Agony. I am in abject agony. I want you back. I am certain, that should you try *hard* enough, like really try, you could come back. I know it’s never been done before. I know death is final, but I’m certain you, of all people, could reassemble and return. So do it please. I’m waiting. I’m here, stuck in this muck, just waiting.
I saw a little walnut shell turned up in the forest yesterday. It was placed just so, on top of the Dryad’s Saddle mushrooms I harvest in the spring for our dinner table. Did you put it there, knowing how I look for those mushrooms clinging to the side of trees? I picked you daisies and brilliant yellow wild asters as I walked. I was reminded of how you used to use those daisies to make chains of flowers you and your sisters would use as crowns on your heads. Royalty, all of us, anointed by you.
When I got to my little rock alter I have built, I laid down your flowers and prayed to God, I prayed to you, I prayed to my ancestors and anyone else I could think of to help me muster what I need to move through another day. I prayed for love around you, my daughter. I prayed for love around our family, the broken left behind. I prayed for God’s grace and whatever it is that I need to somehow navigate this new world we find ourselves in. I must be love and understanding for your papa and your sisters. I cannot allow our disintegration as the debris of your death swirls all around us. My body breathes another breath for them.
When I left the alter, continuing down the path leading down to the water, a patch of wild strawberries lit up the ground before me. Bright red little rubies, as tiny as a baby’s fingernail, plumping themselves in the summer sun at my feet. I picked all that I could see and put them in the pocket of my shirt. When I got home, I went and found your dad and poured out the berries on Bapka’s old bread board. A tablespoon of the tiniest strawberries - probably 20 or so on that spoon, popped in our mouths en masse for your dad’s strategic and predictable “flavour intensification” approach to all things delicious. They were still warm from the sun and from being held against my chest as I walked.
Such sweetness and depth of flavour in such a small little berry. The grocery store berries would blush in shame. Our eyes popped open and smiles crawled across our lips when we weren’t paying attention. Sneaky smiles, waiting in the wings, ready to throw themselves on stage for their bit part, knowing the star player of despondency returns for its reign soon enough.
Still, felt good to see and feel those strawberry smiles. Thank you, my love.
I found you here after following your other blog and Instagram. I lost a child 14 years ago. 14. Sometimes it feels like one minute and sometimes a lifetime but your words take me right back whether I’d like them to or not. I know the raw wide open place of grief you are in. It is not in moments where it comes and then goes. It is the atmosphere around you…. There is no getting away from atmosphere, it just is. I am so sorry. I don’t know what else to write except that. The aching that you feel. I feel it with you. Xo
Dear Tara,
Your daughter's Story and your Newsletter were highlighted in one of my favorite Substack Newsletters by Heather Heying: Natural Selections.
Mila's biography touched me deeply and my heart and mind felt sad that the world has lost such a beautiful young soul who, no doubt, was intended to continue touching the world in important ways, had she lived.
I, too, have been touched by suicide in my family but for starkly different reasons to do with genetics and our ignorance as a family.
As you told the uplifting and beautiful stories about her depth of feeling and emotion toward people and animals, the beauty of nature and the importance of connection, my heart was pained by both the beauty and hurt of what I know she must have often felt.
I, too, have a depth of sensitivity, (empathy, which Mila clearly had ❤️), which amplifies the highs and the lows and know how challenging it can be to live in a world that seems to lack the same level of sensitivity around the more important elements of life. Life's demands often dampen ones ability to see clearly the beauty that always surrounds us and is available should we be strong enough to pursue it.
As a grandmother (Nonna) to 5 children, aged 8-16 years, I am thankful for your telling of Mila's experiences as a young person in this time of COVID. As an adult, it is easy to forget what it is like to be young with the excitement of your whole life ahead of you. COVID, along with the terrible political divisions we have seen in our U.S.of A., (as well as other parts of the world) have put an unfair burden on the generations intended to inherit and carry on after us.
Some of the examples being set for them seem terribly lacking in encouragement for those who will be tasked with the future of our world. How have we come to be so selfish as adults tasked with lighting the way for the younger generations? 😔
My 15 year old granddaughter just had an incident at school which will serve as a hard, but hopefully deeply informative, lesson. In another time, with a different political climate, this would have been a non-incident considered just normal kid stuff. But identity politics have brought a grave imbalance into several different spheres, schools being a fertile breeding ground for gotcha' judgement of, what was once considered, typical teenage behavior (although I still didn't necessarily agree with it!). I have heartfelt concerns for the impact this will have as she has been suspended from school and will have five days at home to consider the situation and how to relate to it. A short recording already posted to Instagram has put her in the crosshairs for misjudgment and mean and cruel treatment. Often suffering with anxiety, I pray that this will not bring adverse consequences.
Mila's story has called my attention to how often we can be unaware of just how deeply the emotional storms raging within a young person's mind and heart can go. Mila's ultimate turn to a method of escape, which ultimately impacted and helped to end her life, is a harsh reminder of the reality that most human beings have a "drug of choice" to help them through the hard times.
Thank you, again, for sharing your broken heart and personal experience. It heightens my need for attention to and empathy with our young people.
May God bless you with peace of heart and mind as you continue to miss your precious child and all the beauty she added to your lives and to all who she impacted. My the most beautiful memories of her sustain you.🙏🏻💕