Heart full of soul, essay full of soul. What a beautiful piece. The symbolism of the meteor, the way is moves like a thread (or shooting star) throughout your article, and comes full circle to tie you back to that night with your husband is so powerful. He is clearly with you still. Clearly.
You're probably aware of the Chinese legend of celestial bodies meeting once a year: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Cowherd_and_the_Weaver_Girl But there's a link just in case. It's also celebrated in Japan under a diffrent name and at a diffrent date. I thought of it when I read your moving post.
When he hands you the photo of the falling star, I thought of Donne’s poem: “Go and catch a falling star/ Get with child a mandrake root/ Tell me where all past years are...” Lovely piece, Mary.
It is so generous of you to share these pieces with us. I imagine it must be hard sometimes to open up your private moments to this forum, because they must feel so precious. But I do love reading what you write. I was so struck by the moment that your phone received the attachment from his. What a jolt. It's funny how technology has created that possibility of a note or a call from the past. I have so many voicemail messages on my phone from when my Mom actually sounded like my mom, from when she could actually use a phone. I go back and listen to them sometimes to try to remember what it used to feel like to be her daughter. Thank you for the beautiful, elegant writing. You address such emotional and powerful topics without wading into too much sentiment, or getting maudlin. Such perfect, spare reflections. 💙
Oh, thank you, Tara. I do my best to avoid maudlin writing. I kill so many darlings to avoid it. That may be why I waited several months to begin this Substack. Chronological distance is helpful in this kind of writing.
Just want to add that I’ve noticed a lack of the sentimental in your work as well. The essay about your mom is only one example. You don’t shove the heartache at us; it’s in the quiet, careful details. That’s what makes it so powerful. ❤️
Thank you for your kind words, Bill. I truly enjoy writing these essays. The process helps me understand what I’m living through. If my readers learn from these posts, or if it gives them a chance to appreciate the way in which grief really does open your heart, it makes me happy.❤️
What a heart wrenching, honest piece. Thank you for this. I also write from a place of grief and loss. It adds a painful measure of depth to us, doesn't it? I look forward to reading more of your words and story.
My goodness Mary, this was beautiful. I inherited my mom's LP collection after she passed from uterine cancer ten years ago, which coincidentally included a few Yardbirds records. Those associations are permanently etched in my mind as well.
Thank you for sharing these tender moments and memories with us.
Oh, thank you, Dan. That song really spoke to me. I am so grateful for your kind words. Glad you were fortunate enough to inherit your mom’s record collection. So much is in those songs.❤️
And again, Dan, I’m so sorry for the loss of your mother. Cancer is a terrible thing; uterine cancer is one of the worst. She left you a heart full of soul. A tremendous gift.
That’s such a great song. I had never heard of The Yardbirds, either, until I was maybe 20 and wandering around Fairbanks, Alaska in a depressed daze. The library had so many records that helped keep me alive. One was Truth, with Jeff Beck on guitar and Rod Stewart on vocals, 1968. What an album! Their version of “Shapes of Things” is a sonic light explosion.
Eleven years later, after the sudden and violent death of a girlfriend, other music from the 1960s propped me up, not least “Ooh, Ooh Child” by The Five Stairsteps, another song I had never heard before but which played two or three times a day all through that long hot grief-stricken summer.
It seems like we open up in our time of need just enough for the music to find us.
David, I’m so sorry to hear about your girlfriend. How tragic and devastating. I’m glad that there was some solace for you, and I’m not surprised that you found it in music. I think certain songs speak to us during times of grief. They can carry us through.
I have not heard that version of “Shapes of Things,” but it sounds amazing. I’ll have to check it out. That’s another song I listen to on repeat. It’s fascinating how many great artists were associated in some way with the Yardbirds. Didn’t know Rod Stewart was in that orbit.
Thank you for your generosity. I see that your words have resonated with so many others. It’s clear to me now that grief, which at first seems to be about the world closing in, ultimately leads us to being more open.
There is that way also in which the person who has left the building seems to be communicating with us still somehow, musically, and in other ways. Half of my brain would tell me no, that’s not possible, and the other half would respond, why are you choosing to think in that way?
Heart full of soul, essay full of soul. What a beautiful piece. The symbolism of the meteor, the way is moves like a thread (or shooting star) throughout your article, and comes full circle to tie you back to that night with your husband is so powerful. He is clearly with you still. Clearly.
Thank you, Kay. He is.❤️
You are welcome. Have you heard of the book "Signs: Secret Language of the Universe" by Laura Lynne Jackson? highly recommend it.
No, I have not. Thank you. I will check it out. ❤️
This was beautiful, Mary
You're probably aware of the Chinese legend of celestial bodies meeting once a year: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Cowherd_and_the_Weaver_Girl But there's a link just in case. It's also celebrated in Japan under a diffrent name and at a diffrent date. I thought of it when I read your moving post.
Thank you, Jeffrey! You are very kind. I’m familiar with the story, but it’s been a long time since I read it. Appreciate the link!
This is a beautiful and moving post, Mary. Loved it. Is that picture of the shooting star from your collection? That's an amazing snapshot.
Thank you, Sanuj, for your kind comments. Yes, the picture is the actual one he took. Pretty amazing.
When he hands you the photo of the falling star, I thought of Donne’s poem: “Go and catch a falling star/ Get with child a mandrake root/ Tell me where all past years are...” Lovely piece, Mary.
Rona, thank you so much. I feel deeply honored. I’m not familiar with this poem. I’m going to look it up.❤️
You'll see that the poem is not about timeless love, but the first few lines apply.
A really well written and very moving piece, Mary. Thank you.
Thank you so much, Ann. I’m deeply honored. ❤️
It is so generous of you to share these pieces with us. I imagine it must be hard sometimes to open up your private moments to this forum, because they must feel so precious. But I do love reading what you write. I was so struck by the moment that your phone received the attachment from his. What a jolt. It's funny how technology has created that possibility of a note or a call from the past. I have so many voicemail messages on my phone from when my Mom actually sounded like my mom, from when she could actually use a phone. I go back and listen to them sometimes to try to remember what it used to feel like to be her daughter. Thank you for the beautiful, elegant writing. You address such emotional and powerful topics without wading into too much sentiment, or getting maudlin. Such perfect, spare reflections. 💙
Oh, thank you, Tara. I do my best to avoid maudlin writing. I kill so many darlings to avoid it. That may be why I waited several months to begin this Substack. Chronological distance is helpful in this kind of writing.
Just want to add that I’ve noticed a lack of the sentimental in your work as well. The essay about your mom is only one example. You don’t shove the heartache at us; it’s in the quiet, careful details. That’s what makes it so powerful. ❤️
Beautifully written, as always, Mary - very moving.
Thank you for your kind words, Bill. I truly enjoy writing these essays. The process helps me understand what I’m living through. If my readers learn from these posts, or if it gives them a chance to appreciate the way in which grief really does open your heart, it makes me happy.❤️
What a heart wrenching, honest piece. Thank you for this. I also write from a place of grief and loss. It adds a painful measure of depth to us, doesn't it? I look forward to reading more of your words and story.
Thank you for your kindness. I’m sorry for your loss (and I mean it sincerely). Grief does take us to a place outside of time. It changes us.❤️
Beautiful work, both the word craft and the grieving.
Thank you, Amy. You are very kind. I’m honored by your words.❤️
My goodness Mary, this was beautiful. I inherited my mom's LP collection after she passed from uterine cancer ten years ago, which coincidentally included a few Yardbirds records. Those associations are permanently etched in my mind as well.
Thank you for sharing these tender moments and memories with us.
Oh, thank you, Dan. That song really spoke to me. I am so grateful for your kind words. Glad you were fortunate enough to inherit your mom’s record collection. So much is in those songs.❤️
And again, Dan, I’m so sorry for the loss of your mother. Cancer is a terrible thing; uterine cancer is one of the worst. She left you a heart full of soul. A tremendous gift.
So moving Mary. Thank you for sharing this. I love your writing.
Thank you so much, Penny. I’m so glad this post spoke to you. You are one of those people whose heart truly is full of soul.❤️
Adore your writing Mary 💜 so moved by this piece and grateful for you sharing it
Thank you, Kristen! I appreciate your kind and generous words.❤️
That’s such a great song. I had never heard of The Yardbirds, either, until I was maybe 20 and wandering around Fairbanks, Alaska in a depressed daze. The library had so many records that helped keep me alive. One was Truth, with Jeff Beck on guitar and Rod Stewart on vocals, 1968. What an album! Their version of “Shapes of Things” is a sonic light explosion.
Eleven years later, after the sudden and violent death of a girlfriend, other music from the 1960s propped me up, not least “Ooh, Ooh Child” by The Five Stairsteps, another song I had never heard before but which played two or three times a day all through that long hot grief-stricken summer.
It seems like we open up in our time of need just enough for the music to find us.
David, I’m so sorry to hear about your girlfriend. How tragic and devastating. I’m glad that there was some solace for you, and I’m not surprised that you found it in music. I think certain songs speak to us during times of grief. They can carry us through.
I have not heard that version of “Shapes of Things,” but it sounds amazing. I’ll have to check it out. That’s another song I listen to on repeat. It’s fascinating how many great artists were associated in some way with the Yardbirds. Didn’t know Rod Stewart was in that orbit.
Thanks for sharing your story.
Thank you for your generosity. I see that your words have resonated with so many others. It’s clear to me now that grief, which at first seems to be about the world closing in, ultimately leads us to being more open.
There is that way also in which the person who has left the building seems to be communicating with us still somehow, musically, and in other ways. Half of my brain would tell me no, that’s not possible, and the other half would respond, why are you choosing to think in that way?
Thank you, David. You are so generous and kind. Love your thoughtful comments at Story Club.
Likewise!