It’s been a good, long while. I am here now, but not transcribing a letter I have written to Mila as I have in other entries. I haven’t written her many letters as of late. I have more to share here, older letters, sequential to what I’ve offered thus far, that I will post soon. My hope is that my trail of bread crumbs through this wilderness of grief might help someone. Somehow. Whatever “help” even means. I suppose, to me, it means connection or solace in someone out there knowing and understanding our deepest pain. Not exactly. Not perfectly. But that’s impossible anyways.
Please know that your beautiful Mila lives on in the minds and hearts of your readers. Because of her unique gifts that you conveyed to us so lovingly -- her hockey prowess, her love for animals, her kindness to her parents, her talent for writing -- I think of her often. I never met her, but I often hope my little girl will grow up to be as fearless and loving as Mila, much as I aspire to be like Mila's amazing mama.
Your words are my words. It's been 1 year since my seventeen year old son, Jack, died by suicide. I hear you and I see you, wholly and completely. Thank you for your honesty in all that is light & dark.
Given no restraints I would like to crotchet two very large and wholesome blankets, fly across the oceans with them in a basket beneath me and drop them at your front door to be wrapped around you both when needed. That tendency for human beings to give others 'space' like we live in some Victorian era with hearts made from 'polite society' stone man oh man, it's a secondary, additional injury that - in an ideal world - would never be added to an already aching heart. I find this cowardice so disheartening, always have. And you really do get a front row seat when something beyond comprehension occurs. It's hard. Took years for me to realise that it was - in most cases - cowardice guiding the withholding of presence and support, and not some spiteful choice. Took many MORE years to find compassion for those who lacked such simple courage and humanity. I don't think it's conscious for many and how found peace with this (finally). And I know, I know you wouldn't want much focus on this small part of your words today but I appreciate you addressing this way too common phenomenon. Now, these dragonflies. They just keep breaking through, don't they......
My heart is really with you, its so hard as a parent, I can relate and I'm very sorry. Time is the healer but I know that the loss and grief , is the hardest part. Much love to you.
So happy and grateful to see you posting your unique, profound, moving, raw, and relatable musings again, Tara, and with your usual eloquence and word-craft. Thank you for sharing.
Tara you show us the true power of transformation and how it's comes to us in both elation and grief. Through your pain you teach us how to redefine out human programming and turn up in the hear and now in both elation and pain. Through your agony Mila holds a light of possibility for the rest of us, she's still in that light reminding us to love. The two of you, flesh and essence, turn up in service to all who are blessed to read. I thank you both for where you take me.
I think of Mila often. I think of her not only for the unique and profound voice that she was, having been gifted her writings and musings on here, but I think of her when I read and experience the troubling political rumblings being inflicted on our youth. I want to cry out, “But we’re losing our Mila’s!” And what a crime that is. I think of her, and I grieve for you.
Please know that your beautiful Mila lives on in the minds and hearts of your readers. Because of her unique gifts that you conveyed to us so lovingly -- her hockey prowess, her love for animals, her kindness to her parents, her talent for writing -- I think of her often. I never met her, but I often hope my little girl will grow up to be as fearless and loving as Mila, much as I aspire to be like Mila's amazing mama.
Tara, your words echo my life since losing my daughter. I send you and your family my love and compassion.
Your words are my words. It's been 1 year since my seventeen year old son, Jack, died by suicide. I hear you and I see you, wholly and completely. Thank you for your honesty in all that is light & dark.
Given no restraints I would like to crotchet two very large and wholesome blankets, fly across the oceans with them in a basket beneath me and drop them at your front door to be wrapped around you both when needed. That tendency for human beings to give others 'space' like we live in some Victorian era with hearts made from 'polite society' stone man oh man, it's a secondary, additional injury that - in an ideal world - would never be added to an already aching heart. I find this cowardice so disheartening, always have. And you really do get a front row seat when something beyond comprehension occurs. It's hard. Took years for me to realise that it was - in most cases - cowardice guiding the withholding of presence and support, and not some spiteful choice. Took many MORE years to find compassion for those who lacked such simple courage and humanity. I don't think it's conscious for many and how found peace with this (finally). And I know, I know you wouldn't want much focus on this small part of your words today but I appreciate you addressing this way too common phenomenon. Now, these dragonflies. They just keep breaking through, don't they......
My heart is really with you, its so hard as a parent, I can relate and I'm very sorry. Time is the healer but I know that the loss and grief , is the hardest part. Much love to you.
Thank you for sharing your grief and grieving process. A beautiful piece.
So happy and grateful to see you posting your unique, profound, moving, raw, and relatable musings again, Tara, and with your usual eloquence and word-craft. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you
Tara you show us the true power of transformation and how it's comes to us in both elation and grief. Through your pain you teach us how to redefine out human programming and turn up in the hear and now in both elation and pain. Through your agony Mila holds a light of possibility for the rest of us, she's still in that light reminding us to love. The two of you, flesh and essence, turn up in service to all who are blessed to read. I thank you both for where you take me.
Thank you for sharing your heart. Sending love and hugs to you and your family <3
I think of Mila often. I think of her not only for the unique and profound voice that she was, having been gifted her writings and musings on here, but I think of her when I read and experience the troubling political rumblings being inflicted on our youth. I want to cry out, “But we’re losing our Mila’s!” And what a crime that is. I think of her, and I grieve for you.