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.
For this I am most grateful. I want to stand alongside your pain, our collective pain, the pain we hide because we think it "too much". Love to you, Zoe.
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.
Thank you, Krista. A few weeks ago I ran into one of Mila's closest friends. A girl that wasn't in their 'friend group'. She's a beautiful, sensitive young woman. When she saw me she ran to me and collapsed in my arms and sobbed and there we stood in the aisle of a store for a long time. This young woman who, I realized, didn't have anyone asking her about Mila either. She was alone in her heartache. It was such a gift to have my shoulder saturated in her tears.
Thank you to Ben who keeps an old friend's phone number in his favourites. Such a sweet and tender act of loyalty to a friend. ❤️
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. ❤️
Thank you, Sarah. I wish for that too so I just imagined it being so. We would walk to the granite ridge where we had our ceremony to say goodbye to Mila. There's a rickety wood bench there and, on a windy day like today, the ravens come and play in the wind currents above our heads. You can hear their wings cut through the air. Thank you for listening to me blubber and laugh and rage. Thank you for being there with me just by opening your heart. It's as good as done. ❤️
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.
Thank you, Angela. I will listen to that podcast. I have hard a common sentiment from others experiencing such profound loss - that instead of asking how someone is and sitting with it to listen, there's this sort of tidying up and controlling of the conversation by telling the other. Like, "You must be feeling very sad." or "You must be furious with that. When I had something similar happen....." that sort of thing.
That makes me sad that pot was being smoked at a family gathering. It worries me deeply that this stuff is being brought in stealth mode because so many people think it's the stuff of the 60s or 70s.
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.
Thank you, Mallory. Love from Texas is always good. ❤️
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.
Thank you my beautiful hearted friend.
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
What a beautiful gift these words are to my aching heart. Thank you, Jessi.
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.
Zoe, you wrote what is also on my heart. Every word.
Feeling you ♥️ thanks for saying that
For this I am most grateful. I want to stand alongside your pain, our collective pain, the pain we hide because we think it "too much". Love to you, Zoe.
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.
Thank you, Krista. A few weeks ago I ran into one of Mila's closest friends. A girl that wasn't in their 'friend group'. She's a beautiful, sensitive young woman. When she saw me she ran to me and collapsed in my arms and sobbed and there we stood in the aisle of a store for a long time. This young woman who, I realized, didn't have anyone asking her about Mila either. She was alone in her heartache. It was such a gift to have my shoulder saturated in her tears.
Thank you to Ben who keeps an old friend's phone number in his favourites. Such a sweet and tender act of loyalty to a friend. ❤️
Mila was 10lbs, 6oz, just the very same as I was. That’s the weight of her I remember from your writing
This made me cry. Thank you for your remembering. You and I both know the weight of a good, strong baby.❤️
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.
Thank you for your open heart Wesley. And I, in return, feel connection reading your words. Thank you.
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.
Thank you, Janene. I am honoured by your care. I really am.
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. ❤️
Thank you, Sarah. I wish for that too so I just imagined it being so. We would walk to the granite ridge where we had our ceremony to say goodbye to Mila. There's a rickety wood bench there and, on a windy day like today, the ravens come and play in the wind currents above our heads. You can hear their wings cut through the air. Thank you for listening to me blubber and laugh and rage. Thank you for being there with me just by opening your heart. It's as good as done. ❤️
I can hear and feel the energy from the ravens' wings now. I can hold your blubber, laughs, and rage. It is my honour.
I'm here, listening, moved to tears. I talk about Mila to my grown children, my grandkids and the kids I nanny.
Thank you so much, Jackie. That is such a gift.
Thank you for talking with us. We care, we listen. We are here.
Thank you. ❤️
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.
Thank you, Angela. I will listen to that podcast. I have hard a common sentiment from others experiencing such profound loss - that instead of asking how someone is and sitting with it to listen, there's this sort of tidying up and controlling of the conversation by telling the other. Like, "You must be feeling very sad." or "You must be furious with that. When I had something similar happen....." that sort of thing.
That makes me sad that pot was being smoked at a family gathering. It worries me deeply that this stuff is being brought in stealth mode because so many people think it's the stuff of the 60s or 70s.
Thinking of you Tara 💖
Thank you, Anita.
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, Jenelle. I'm grateful you speak of her.
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
Thank you so much, Esther. ❤️
Thank you, Martine. I am very grateful for your kindness. ❤️