felice, I have indeed received many lovely messages from readers. Yours is one I sat with for a long time, taking it in.
My heart is profoundly stirred.
You are a writer, and a very fine one. You express your complex emotions so beautifully. Tenderness, sorrow, joy in rebirth, the melancholy of moving forward. There is no single word to describe what you’re going through. “Grief” is inadequate; you acknowledge that, not directly, because there is no straight path. You have the house, the picture of him holding the keys, the raised garden beds and the plants you honored him with. The house that may be empty of furnishings but is full of memories. Although you’re moving out, you will live there with him forever.
Thank you for sharing your story. I hope you write again.
Neither the tree nor the husband could be saved, but the memory still blooms in Zone 4. We get to consider with you what it means to try against the odds, to fail (consistent with the warnings) and to stay in the place where you both gave trying everything you had. Another lovely piece.
The word "poignant" is inadequate to describe this post, Mary. What a Mother's Day story. No, I don't think your efforts made things worse. Wish I could have known him, just from your description of the efforts he made to save that tree. Your memories, and your writing, are exquisite.
The butterfly bush in zone 8 is considered an invasive species, but they do sell sterile ones, the butterflies gather..and do their pollination..but no seeds..no multiplication..no after generations..just a bush..On a list as offensive as a weed. I haven’t read much of your posts, I love the rhythm of your writing and how it pulls at my heart, how it stirs the stories and the remembrance of him..my husband..that left in a dart..so quickly he left he tore a whole in my heart. No hospice, no warning, no good bye..just left..sitting in his chair one morning..before I could even make tea.. oh the regrets..I get weary remembering…oh how inadequate I was ..when I did cpr… but he was gone in an instant..somehow I knew he wasn’t coming back.. my life so drastically different..I can’t believe I’m still in the same place..a place that used to be filled with so much love, and grace ..a beautiful place..but now ..it’s dark..the fireplace cold..the spark has gone out..and now I’m just old…Love to you..May you find a ⭐️ star that burns brightly 💫and as whitely as your beautiful tree! 💖🙌🏻❤️❣️
Joy, my deepest sympathies for your the loss of your husband. It must be awful to lose someone so quickly and. A feeling of helplessness along with grief. I’m glad this piece connected with you.
Mary..thank you for your support. I too wish you my deepest sympathy..for I have the misfortune and the gift of knowing and the understanding of your experience. My deepest compassion to you, sweet friend. All my love..may we walk together with courage and strength to find love, happiness, and joy..again..with a deeper understanding and compassion for all of humanity. Blessings to you. I’m looking forward to reading more of you…❤️💕💞💖❣️🙌🏻😘
Oh Joy… this made me cry. My husband didn’t wake up from his nap, I couldn’t save him with cpr. paramedics couldn’t either. What a shock/my life forever changed. We are all widows supporting each other. Much love! 💕😊
Thank you sweet friend, thank you for your support. Much love to you, My deepest compassion to you for having the understanding what’s it like to have your life change in a lightening bolt moment.. And may we both find the gift that was given at the same time a tragedy was experienced. I’m still humbled every day by the love my husband gave/giving. What a teacher he was..and he is.. A wonderful inspiration. 💕❤️💖🙌🏻❣️Best wishes!🤟🏻💕💖❣️
Somehow, by sharing my story little by little, my heart gets lighter.. my world gets brighter.. and I get to the next day.. with him by my side.💖❤❣ All my love to you. 😘
I do believe that this piece you wrote is my favorite thus far on Substack. Visual, poignant, heart filling and heart wrenching, I saw the years roll by like I was watching a movie. Thank you.
I read your story and laughed and cried the whole enchilada of emotions in some ways you and I seem so alike and in others vastly different; but I enjoy your writing!
I am an avid gardener provably because as a kid that was my main chore helping my Dad and I learned to love the feel of soil and the rich musky scent of loam as it fell from my fingers. I have spent the last 18 years working in my yard (zone 9 and I too can’t grow do many plants I want to the zone!) I’ve learned much during the years especially after my husband died: he went through 2 rounds of chemo and didn’t help him. After his death I turned towards letting my creative side loose again- painting the house stripping, sanding, priming, and eventually painting all the cabinets. Using paint, wax and glaze I redid the heavy dark mantel and a hutch’s back- I started walking again everyday -up to 5 miles now! Then I started in the yards that had been going on for 3 years always working on creating I guess it’s a haven for my soul. Keep up the writing you are very good I believe and as my Mon said “Keep yet China up girls !” 😊🤣❤️
LC, my deepest sympathy for the loss of your husband. Chemo is brutal. So very glad you’re finding solace in gardening - so very different than in Zone 4! - and in the creative work of restoration, as well as walking. So good for the spirit, and a way to heal.🙏
Mary, what a beautiful piece. I love that he drove all around to get you one. I love, love, love it. I am sorry you lost it - and him. Sending love and light this Sunday evening.
Anne, much gratitude for your kind words. He really did go beyond what I could have expected. He had so much love in him. Light and love to you too. ❤️
Mary, your writing just goes straight to the heart. You have a beautiful way with words. Whilst your pieces are often written from the sad parts of life they are written with such grace and calm. I am so glad I found you here 😊
The extra time and thought you put into this post shines through. That whole part between the poison for the tree and chemotherapy and that there are no guarantees ~ beautiful in its sublime simplicity! I am so happy to have found you here on Substack!
Sarah, you are so kind. I did feel there was a special connection between with this story and Mother’s Day, but not until I’d almost finished writing it. It’s interesting that the mind works, nudging you in unexpected directions. 💕
A beautiful essay connecting your tree to your husband; both succumbed to a deadly illness. Cancer remains a deadly disease and even if you survive the disease, the treatment regime is brutal and takes so much out of you.
I, too, was diagnosed with cancer in Dec 2012, 18 days after moving to Toronto. Stage 3 colorectal cancer. I had no time to think. Emergency surgery and many rounds of chemo. It was exhausting. I am not sure if I ever recovered my energy.
I am sad to say I was disappointed in how so many people responded. As if I was contagious. Or bad luck. Cancer is none of these things. I learned more about people. And I am alive, a little bit wiser. And much more attuned to birds and Nature, which never lets me down.
Thank you, Perry. I’m glad this piece touched you. It was only in writing about the tree that I thought of the connection between these brutal treatments.
I’m so sorry that you developed cancer, and had such a uniquely terrible experience. I hope you’re managing your symptoms and recovery. I believe that people respond badly out of ignorance and fear. That doesn’t make it easier in the moment, though. But Nature always comes through.
Jill, thank you. We do have a way of finding our zone and staying in it, don’t we? I just don’t see myself down South, at least not permanently I have enough here to keep me occupied for some time. Of course, a broken boiler could change that . . . Nah.
This is such a beautiful story of the magnolia and your husband, their stories intertwined with you and love and loss. You make your married life a poem. This is a tribute to your husband and your tree.
Tara, what a lovely thing to say. I think there’s a sweetness in every good relationship that often gets overlooked until the loved one is gone. Something to think about. I think it’s about other relationships as well. If there’s conflict, it may take distance and time to set it aside and see the real beauty there.
felice, I have indeed received many lovely messages from readers. Yours is one I sat with for a long time, taking it in.
My heart is profoundly stirred.
You are a writer, and a very fine one. You express your complex emotions so beautifully. Tenderness, sorrow, joy in rebirth, the melancholy of moving forward. There is no single word to describe what you’re going through. “Grief” is inadequate; you acknowledge that, not directly, because there is no straight path. You have the house, the picture of him holding the keys, the raised garden beds and the plants you honored him with. The house that may be empty of furnishings but is full of memories. Although you’re moving out, you will live there with him forever.
Thank you for sharing your story. I hope you write again.
Becky, it makes me so glad to hear this. There’s nothing that makes me happier than to know my words have connected with someone.🙏
Neither the tree nor the husband could be saved, but the memory still blooms in Zone 4. We get to consider with you what it means to try against the odds, to fail (consistent with the warnings) and to stay in the place where you both gave trying everything you had. Another lovely piece.
Thank you, Rona. I’m so glad that this touched you.🙏❤️
The word "poignant" is inadequate to describe this post, Mary. What a Mother's Day story. No, I don't think your efforts made things worse. Wish I could have known him, just from your description of the efforts he made to save that tree. Your memories, and your writing, are exquisite.
Oh, Mary. What can I say? You’re getting me through this. Much love. ❤️🙏
I so agree! I was moved by his efforts to save the tree, too. He had to try.
I'm speechless. This is brilliant, Mary.
Kati, I am so thrilled we met here on Substack. You are so generous. I can’t thank you enough for your kindness and support. Big hugs.🙏❤️🫶
The butterfly bush in zone 8 is considered an invasive species, but they do sell sterile ones, the butterflies gather..and do their pollination..but no seeds..no multiplication..no after generations..just a bush..On a list as offensive as a weed. I haven’t read much of your posts, I love the rhythm of your writing and how it pulls at my heart, how it stirs the stories and the remembrance of him..my husband..that left in a dart..so quickly he left he tore a whole in my heart. No hospice, no warning, no good bye..just left..sitting in his chair one morning..before I could even make tea.. oh the regrets..I get weary remembering…oh how inadequate I was ..when I did cpr… but he was gone in an instant..somehow I knew he wasn’t coming back.. my life so drastically different..I can’t believe I’m still in the same place..a place that used to be filled with so much love, and grace ..a beautiful place..but now ..it’s dark..the fireplace cold..the spark has gone out..and now I’m just old…Love to you..May you find a ⭐️ star that burns brightly 💫and as whitely as your beautiful tree! 💖🙌🏻❤️❣️
Joy, my deepest sympathies for your the loss of your husband. It must be awful to lose someone so quickly and. A feeling of helplessness along with grief. I’m glad this piece connected with you.
Mary..thank you for your support. I too wish you my deepest sympathy..for I have the misfortune and the gift of knowing and the understanding of your experience. My deepest compassion to you, sweet friend. All my love..may we walk together with courage and strength to find love, happiness, and joy..again..with a deeper understanding and compassion for all of humanity. Blessings to you. I’m looking forward to reading more of you…❤️💕💞💖❣️🙌🏻😘
Oh Joy… this made me cry. My husband didn’t wake up from his nap, I couldn’t save him with cpr. paramedics couldn’t either. What a shock/my life forever changed. We are all widows supporting each other. Much love! 💕😊
Thank you sweet friend, thank you for your support. Much love to you, My deepest compassion to you for having the understanding what’s it like to have your life change in a lightening bolt moment.. And may we both find the gift that was given at the same time a tragedy was experienced. I’m still humbled every day by the love my husband gave/giving. What a teacher he was..and he is.. A wonderful inspiration. 💕❤️💖🙌🏻❣️Best wishes!🤟🏻💕💖❣️
🥰💕😘
Yes… coming from love and long marriage, we were equipped to carry on. It was hard, but I’ve made it through with him always beside me, guiding me.
Your story breaks my heart. Thank you for sharing it. 💔♥️
Somehow, by sharing my story little by little, my heart gets lighter.. my world gets brighter.. and I get to the next day.. with him by my side.💖❤❣ All my love to you. 😘
Jodi, I’m so glad that this connected with you. 🙏❤️
I do believe that this piece you wrote is my favorite thus far on Substack. Visual, poignant, heart filling and heart wrenching, I saw the years roll by like I was watching a movie. Thank you.
Ginevra, I’m speechless. I’m beyond words. It moves me so much when my words connect with readers. Thank you for being part of this community.🙏❤️
I read your story and laughed and cried the whole enchilada of emotions in some ways you and I seem so alike and in others vastly different; but I enjoy your writing!
I am an avid gardener provably because as a kid that was my main chore helping my Dad and I learned to love the feel of soil and the rich musky scent of loam as it fell from my fingers. I have spent the last 18 years working in my yard (zone 9 and I too can’t grow do many plants I want to the zone!) I’ve learned much during the years especially after my husband died: he went through 2 rounds of chemo and didn’t help him. After his death I turned towards letting my creative side loose again- painting the house stripping, sanding, priming, and eventually painting all the cabinets. Using paint, wax and glaze I redid the heavy dark mantel and a hutch’s back- I started walking again everyday -up to 5 miles now! Then I started in the yards that had been going on for 3 years always working on creating I guess it’s a haven for my soul. Keep up the writing you are very good I believe and as my Mon said “Keep yet China up girls !” 😊🤣❤️
LC, my deepest sympathy for the loss of your husband. Chemo is brutal. So very glad you’re finding solace in gardening - so very different than in Zone 4! - and in the creative work of restoration, as well as walking. So good for the spirit, and a way to heal.🙏
Mary, what a beautiful piece. I love that he drove all around to get you one. I love, love, love it. I am sorry you lost it - and him. Sending love and light this Sunday evening.
Anne, much gratitude for your kind words. He really did go beyond what I could have expected. He had so much love in him. Light and love to you too. ❤️
Mary, your writing just goes straight to the heart. You have a beautiful way with words. Whilst your pieces are often written from the sad parts of life they are written with such grace and calm. I am so glad I found you here 😊
Pam, I’m moved by your words. So very happy to know that this found a way to you, and grateful that you’re a part of this community. 🙏❤️
The extra time and thought you put into this post shines through. That whole part between the poison for the tree and chemotherapy and that there are no guarantees ~ beautiful in its sublime simplicity! I am so happy to have found you here on Substack!
B W, you have your own unique way with words. You helped me, as I know you’ve helped many others. I’m grateful that you’re here.
Every time you write, it stirs something in me. Thank you, Mary.
Tiffany, I feel the same way about your work. You have a gift for connecting. Thank you for being here.🙏❤️
Wonderful essay, Mary. Beautiful specifics, and beautiful on the passage of time. And somehow perfect for today. 💕
Sarah, you are so kind. I did feel there was a special connection between with this story and Mother’s Day, but not until I’d almost finished writing it. It’s interesting that the mind works, nudging you in unexpected directions. 💕
Yes, those subconscious connections!
A beautiful essay connecting your tree to your husband; both succumbed to a deadly illness. Cancer remains a deadly disease and even if you survive the disease, the treatment regime is brutal and takes so much out of you.
I, too, was diagnosed with cancer in Dec 2012, 18 days after moving to Toronto. Stage 3 colorectal cancer. I had no time to think. Emergency surgery and many rounds of chemo. It was exhausting. I am not sure if I ever recovered my energy.
I am sad to say I was disappointed in how so many people responded. As if I was contagious. Or bad luck. Cancer is none of these things. I learned more about people. And I am alive, a little bit wiser. And much more attuned to birds and Nature, which never lets me down.
Thank you, Perry. I’m glad this piece touched you. It was only in writing about the tree that I thought of the connection between these brutal treatments.
I’m so sorry that you developed cancer, and had such a uniquely terrible experience. I hope you’re managing your symptoms and recovery. I believe that people respond badly out of ignorance and fear. That doesn’t make it easier in the moment, though. But Nature always comes through.
The story of the magnolia tree is so much more than that. What a lovely essay about love and loss. And yes, stay.
Jill, thank you. We do have a way of finding our zone and staying in it, don’t we? I just don’t see myself down South, at least not permanently I have enough here to keep me occupied for some time. Of course, a broken boiler could change that . . . Nah.
This is such a beautiful story of the magnolia and your husband, their stories intertwined with you and love and loss. You make your married life a poem. This is a tribute to your husband and your tree.
Tara, what a lovely thing to say. I think there’s a sweetness in every good relationship that often gets overlooked until the loved one is gone. Something to think about. I think it’s about other relationships as well. If there’s conflict, it may take distance and time to set it aside and see the real beauty there.