Oh, dear Phyllis. I'm so sorry, and so moved by this melding of holding your mom in your heart across all those miles and times with the fallen limb that blocks your walk. I imagine that memory will return with other fallen limbs that cross your path, and maybe even, even-tually with signs of a spring's new growth and sprouting seedlings. Sending love.
Dear Phyllis. So sad and so beautiful. I’m so sorry. It is even more painful and difficult to know what has happened being so far away. My love to you and your mom. Great big hug to you both. Peace
The poem, the imagery, your tender heart and keen eyesight of your Mom and her rich life simply led. It’s all quite stunning. And not surprising coming from an eloquent source.
This is breathtaking. Your heart, open to the world, and to your own breaking now shares its love as food for us too. Holding the high watch for you and your mother, your family and those wonderful caregivers. Peace, friend.
“I have been in this place too” — yes, all of us have been, or will be. Somehow. Which is why I felt compelled to share the poem. May it meet you in any grief you still carry.
Phyliis, oh so sorry. Shade and shelter ringing of the maternal. The power of poetry, the ability to pour one’s thoughts into words, to make sense, to sort one’s feelings. It’s a beautiful piece. Thanks for sharing it snd love to you and your mom.
As I navigate a different but similar experience, I treasure this poem and your capacity to bring it to light. I treasure you for bringing light and comfort. The tenderest and strongest of hearts; yours.
A metaphor at your feet! You created a stunning poem; a moment of clarity and love. As others have experienced this too in these many comments, we are reminded how this is all part of life, however broken and heartbreaking it is. I was also moved by your line that your mom “has tumbled down the well of herself.” The image of dementia itself. My mother tumbled out of bed in her disoriented sleep-dreamworld, insisting she fell out of a boat. She broke several vertebrae, which was the beginning of her last days. But through it all, we love, love, love again” and know ing that love never ends is a comfort I think.
Thank you, Nolcha. This is what is.
Thank you so very much, Ann Marie!
Oh, dear Phyllis. I'm so sorry, and so moved by this melding of holding your mom in your heart across all those miles and times with the fallen limb that blocks your walk. I imagine that memory will return with other fallen limbs that cross your path, and maybe even, even-tually with signs of a spring's new growth and sprouting seedlings. Sending love.
Thank you for this blessing, Deb. I’m grateful.
Dear Phyllis. So sad and so beautiful. I’m so sorry. It is even more painful and difficult to know what has happened being so far away. My love to you and your mom. Great big hug to you both. Peace
Thank you for that great big hug, Ann. (Like my mom’s!)
Holding you in Love & Light, Phyllis……took that journey with my beloved Mom.🙏❤️
Wow! That knocked my socks off.
Beautiful, Phyllis.
The poem, the imagery, your tender heart and keen eyesight of your Mom and her rich life simply led. It’s all quite stunning. And not surprising coming from an eloquent source.
Deep bows to you, Kate. What a beloved space I am in, and you Rafters are with me!
This is breathtaking. Your heart, open to the world, and to your own breaking now shares its love as food for us too. Holding the high watch for you and your mother, your family and those wonderful caregivers. Peace, friend.
“Holding the high watch”—what a lovely phrase! Thank you, Brigid.
Oh my, Phyllis,
This is beautiful and heartbreaking.
I have been in this place too.
Take good care.
Love and hugs.
“I have been in this place too” — yes, all of us have been, or will be. Somehow. Which is why I felt compelled to share the poem. May it meet you in any grief you still carry.
Good Morning , Phyllis. The limb fell and yet the roots held firm.
“We love, we love, and we love again.”
Thank you for sharing this part of your and your mom’s life journey...
so beautifully expressed. ❤️
I am reminded of Mark Nepo’s, “Adrift” (which you probably introduced me to.)
It expresses our capacity
to hold the tension of both love and loss...
“It is there that I’m adrift, feeling punctured
by a holiness that exists inside everything.
I am so sad and everything is beautiful.”
Peace and Love always. ❤️🙏❤️🙏
Indeed: “I am so sad and everything is beautiful.”
I embrace it all.
Thank you, Nancy.
Phyliis, oh so sorry. Shade and shelter ringing of the maternal. The power of poetry, the ability to pour one’s thoughts into words, to make sense, to sort one’s feelings. It’s a beautiful piece. Thanks for sharing it snd love to you and your mom.
Thank you so much, Berta. Writing this was indeed a comfort.
Phyllis, sending healing thoughts to your Mom! Blessing you and your family to embrace all things good that flow your way during such difficult times.
Thank you, friend Myrtle.
“The world has infinite ways to break us,
fewer ways to mend.
We love, we love, we love again.”
May you continue to love and know you are held and loved as you go through this challenging journey with your mother.
A heartbreaking, heartwarming poem
Thank you so much, Jan. I do feel held and loved. And you have contributed to that.
As I navigate a different but similar experience, I treasure this poem and your capacity to bring it to light. I treasure you for bringing light and comfort. The tenderest and strongest of hearts; yours.
May you have all the light and comfort you need as you navigate your own way, Diane. You aren’t alone.
This is a beautiful poem which says it all. No need for more except “We love you.” Blessings
You humble me, Frank. Blessings to you.
A metaphor at your feet! You created a stunning poem; a moment of clarity and love. As others have experienced this too in these many comments, we are reminded how this is all part of life, however broken and heartbreaking it is. I was also moved by your line that your mom “has tumbled down the well of herself.” The image of dementia itself. My mother tumbled out of bed in her disoriented sleep-dreamworld, insisting she fell out of a boat. She broke several vertebrae, which was the beginning of her last days. But through it all, we love, love, love again” and know ing that love never ends is a comfort I think.
Oh, you say it well, Annette. We can’t love without sometimes feeling the heartache and continuing to love. Bless your on your own journey . . .
Thank you, dear Phyllis.
Now, the pain of lying
exposed and shattered on the ground,
strangers tiptoeing all around her—
How moving! How true! How inevitable. My gratitude for her life well lived and for offspring so wise and kind. Thank you.
Peter
Thank you, Peter. I’m sure you know the love and pain I’m speaking of . . .