I wish it were winter. I wish the earth was frozen, all of life encrusted with ice. No expectations of buds and blooms. No demands for participation in life. Just dormancy. A wood fire that asks nothing of me but my cold body. Too cold to go outside. Blizzard warnings that hold us captive in our home.
Please keep talking to us here about her. It’s no substitute for a face to face conversation, where we can ask you all about her and the sort of person she was. But we here still want to know.
I think of Mila. My sister and I were talking of her yesterday. And of you. And the seeming impossibility of continuing to exist with the grief of a precious child who has gone elsewhere.
Toasting Mila and sending you love from Texas, tonight.
Tara we can't hear you, it's true , we can't know that weight because if we are honest we can't imagine it, we don't want to imagine it. We can't hear you because we dont know those words but we can feel you. We can feel your anguish even if we can't name it or relate it to any known feeling. We can keep reading. We can keep Mila alive in our imaginations walking bow in hand trailed by barn cats. You, we can love you. Love you with all we have. None of our love will ever replace the love of the weight you carry, grief is heavy. It's love though, and with everything I've got I send it to you to remind you that although we can't carry your weight I will always walk with you and sit with you when walking becomes too much. I will always listen to grief and love, they can't exist without eachother as you have taught me. I'll remember Mila, and I'll love you. Keep talking I'm here.
I’m so very sorry that no one asks. I had wished for you that you heard Mila’s name over and over each day. Her name was mentioned here the other day, as it often is. I don’t recall how the conversation started, but it ended with Ben telling us that Mila’s number still sits in his favourites list on his phone. How could it not? No mother should know the weight of their child’s brain. Is there any wonder that there are no words to describe that grief? I think of you often and wonder how you are bearing the weight of that pain. I am grateful when Flowers for Mila pops up in my email. Grateful that you have found somewhere to share your words, your grief, your love.
While I don't want to imagine it, the possibility of being in your shoes, your writing helps me to do so… and by doing so, helps me to hold my daughters a little closer. To cherish life a little more. Thank you.
It also gives the grief I hold in side a point of connection as that grief was bared alone. And for a moment, as I read this, that grief I hold inside felt connected. Not alone.
Thank you for sharing this and for this moment of connection.
It seems wrong to "like" this post. But I guess that's what we do in this world when we want to tell someone we care about them. And I do care about you, Tara. So much. I pray that Mila can send you an extra message that you know and receive and I pray that it can help in some way.
Oh I wish I could sit with you in the darkness and ask how you are, and then just listen and witness your grief. If you’d have me. Thank you for sharing, and teaching us how to BE with someone in grief. And thank you for sharing stories of Mila with us. ❤️
I want to talk about your daughter!! I still have your story, I have shared, and I want to share always, because your grief needs to be validated. Our government needs to be accountable to the blood that was shed here. They are directly responsible for lifes lost. I always think about your daughter and the confusion she must have felt. It was a time that was strange for many young people....yet no comfort was given! Fear drove people, I am sorry for your loss, please always share with us......Mila, what a beautiful name. She is my little hero!
I think of you and Mila, your whole family, often. I listened to a recent podcast on Honestly about a father who wrote a book about grief after the loss of his two children and wondered if you heard it or possibly even met him. He too described having his pain narrated by others.
I thought of Mila as I volunteered at a church fair last weekend - a family event with Sinatra band, kids games, bouncy house, etc. - and the scent of vaped pot permeated the air as though it’s a harmless pleasure.
I miss seeing pictures of her meals. Weird, I know, but I loved that she ate that way. Lovely, smart girl with her mother’s dark hair.
I talk about Mila, to my sister and mother and how fragile life is. I tell them the stories you tell us. Please continue to share these pieces! Sending you love.
Thank you. I talk about Mila. I talk about her with my son as he skirts places maybe she skirted. The weeds are tall and the bushwhacking is real. And I thank you for letting us bear witness out here in the ether
Please keep talking to us here about her. It’s no substitute for a face to face conversation, where we can ask you all about her and the sort of person she was. But we here still want to know.
I think of Mila. My sister and I were talking of her yesterday. And of you. And the seeming impossibility of continuing to exist with the grief of a precious child who has gone elsewhere.
Toasting Mila and sending you love from Texas, tonight.
Tara we can't hear you, it's true , we can't know that weight because if we are honest we can't imagine it, we don't want to imagine it. We can't hear you because we dont know those words but we can feel you. We can feel your anguish even if we can't name it or relate it to any known feeling. We can keep reading. We can keep Mila alive in our imaginations walking bow in hand trailed by barn cats. You, we can love you. Love you with all we have. None of our love will ever replace the love of the weight you carry, grief is heavy. It's love though, and with everything I've got I send it to you to remind you that although we can't carry your weight I will always walk with you and sit with you when walking becomes too much. I will always listen to grief and love, they can't exist without eachother as you have taught me. I'll remember Mila, and I'll love you. Keep talking I'm here.
Tara,
How I wish I had a mother that I got to let my full weight rest upon...
I feel blessed to get to read your words of what love between a mother and daughter can be.
If I become a mother in this life. I hope you and Mila know you sparked a remembering in me...
J x
Tears and tears for you. Thank you for sharing your bravery and your pain. It stands alongside my pain and makes it easier.
I wish it was winter too.
I’m so very sorry that no one asks. I had wished for you that you heard Mila’s name over and over each day. Her name was mentioned here the other day, as it often is. I don’t recall how the conversation started, but it ended with Ben telling us that Mila’s number still sits in his favourites list on his phone. How could it not? No mother should know the weight of their child’s brain. Is there any wonder that there are no words to describe that grief? I think of you often and wonder how you are bearing the weight of that pain. I am grateful when Flowers for Mila pops up in my email. Grateful that you have found somewhere to share your words, your grief, your love.
Mila was 10lbs, 6oz, just the very same as I was. That’s the weight of her I remember from your writing
While I don't want to imagine it, the possibility of being in your shoes, your writing helps me to do so… and by doing so, helps me to hold my daughters a little closer. To cherish life a little more. Thank you.
It also gives the grief I hold in side a point of connection as that grief was bared alone. And for a moment, as I read this, that grief I hold inside felt connected. Not alone.
Thank you for sharing this and for this moment of connection.
Thank you so much.
It seems wrong to "like" this post. But I guess that's what we do in this world when we want to tell someone we care about them. And I do care about you, Tara. So much. I pray that Mila can send you an extra message that you know and receive and I pray that it can help in some way.
Oh I wish I could sit with you in the darkness and ask how you are, and then just listen and witness your grief. If you’d have me. Thank you for sharing, and teaching us how to BE with someone in grief. And thank you for sharing stories of Mila with us. ❤️
I'm here, listening, moved to tears. I talk about Mila to my grown children, my grandkids and the kids I nanny.
I want to talk about your daughter!! I still have your story, I have shared, and I want to share always, because your grief needs to be validated. Our government needs to be accountable to the blood that was shed here. They are directly responsible for lifes lost. I always think about your daughter and the confusion she must have felt. It was a time that was strange for many young people....yet no comfort was given! Fear drove people, I am sorry for your loss, please always share with us......Mila, what a beautiful name. She is my little hero!
Thank you for talking with us. We care, we listen. We are here.
I think of you and Mila, your whole family, often. I listened to a recent podcast on Honestly about a father who wrote a book about grief after the loss of his two children and wondered if you heard it or possibly even met him. He too described having his pain narrated by others.
I thought of Mila as I volunteered at a church fair last weekend - a family event with Sinatra band, kids games, bouncy house, etc. - and the scent of vaped pot permeated the air as though it’s a harmless pleasure.
I miss seeing pictures of her meals. Weird, I know, but I loved that she ate that way. Lovely, smart girl with her mother’s dark hair.
Thinking of you Tara 💖
I talk about Mila, to my sister and mother and how fragile life is. I tell them the stories you tell us. Please continue to share these pieces! Sending you love.
Thank you. I talk about Mila. I talk about her with my son as he skirts places maybe she skirted. The weeds are tall and the bushwhacking is real. And I thank you for letting us bear witness out here in the ether