Beautiful and fitting homage in a way only you can accomplish.
This feels like an awful thing to say but I wish you could get into my head and explain my life to me in a similar way. You have a way of *seeing* that I just can't access. And the words to express what you see in a way I just don't have. I think that's what makes this a beautiful post--you saw your mother in a way that few (any?) can, and you're able to give us a glimpse into that view in words.
And it makes me reflective! What else don't I see? I really wonder.
Anyway, thank you for writing this. God rest your mother, and God bless you and yours.
If I do, it's from Ellen and Roger both; he was serious and she was light, he was systematic and she was poetic, and I was lucky to have both ways of seeing not merely represented but often insisted upon!
You give everything and hold nothing back, Mills. A courage few will ever have. I won’t say the thing I’ve said the last few days that I’m sure has bugged you to no end (and please do not say it hasn’t) but I don’t know what “that word” means if it doesn’t mean seeing someone as they are and trying your earnest best to deal with things as they are. None of us can see as He sees us, so with our eyes too small to the Truth, we make our way as best we can and it sounds like you’ve tried to do that. Best of luck and health to you, Mills. I know it is foolish to wish a scar away, because so much is built on top of the scar tissue, but sometimes I swear I can hear His music and there is still light to see, sometimes, occasionally, this side of Heaven.
You’re the man, man; thank you. I know you know whereof I speak and in fact to a far, far greater degree. And I do have faith, at the moment, but it lives on knife’s edge in me, departs as it will (or as I fail to will, who can say).
Thank you Myles; I really appreciate that. I only realized this week that it was the blessings and prayers of others that had likely guided my life in the ways in which it's been lucky, so it means a lot. And your writing has helped me, so please don't even joke.
I have spent the morning feeling ashamed that I can't bring myself to write my father's obituary. The words are there, the love is there, but I'm struggling to write it... perhaps because I'm too much like him. Your words helped me understand this. Thank you.
My condolences for the loss of your father. I struggled with the obituaries, and the only thing that helped me was to think of them not as "the final word" or "summation" of their lives and beings, but rather as a sort of limited, formal thing: more like a "notice" than a biography.
There's no hope of putting the universes that these people —and you and all of us— are into an obituary, so I did a skeleton of the "boring data" that all obits have, then colored in around that and left it alone. Part of why I wrote this post is that nothing of my relationship with her was in the obituary; indeed, I sort of wanted myself out of it, out of frame. It's for the papers and the people.
I don't know if that's good advice, but it's how I hacked it in the state I was in. Thank you for commenting, and I hope you fare all right through the mourning; and the fact that you worry about it at all —many do not!— is all the proof of love there is.
I have so much to say about this immaculate piece of writing. Thank you for writing it. My father is bi-polar and a narcissist. I cut off communication with him nearly six years ago. There's too much to unpack there, but I will say that I can relate to some of what you've said here about your mother, and I appreciate you writing so openly and honestly about your relationship and experience. We need more illuminating stories like yours in this dark world. Finally, I just want to add that I went back and forth quite a bit on whether or not to have children because of the laundry list of mental illnesses that run in my family (BPD, bi-polar, addiction, suicide, schizophrenia, anxiety, depression, alcoholism, OCD, etc.). But, in the end, I longed for the experience. I desperately wanted--needed--to re-introduce joy into my life after my fourteen-year-old brother's suicide. My two little suns have brightened it beyond my wildest dreams. They are 3 and almost 5 now, and I am clinging to this magical chapter. And, I am praying that they will not struggle the way that I do, the way that my parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, and uncles did. I'm doing everything in my might to better myself (somatic therapy, spending time in nature, eating well, etc.), so that they can better themselves if and when that shadow appears. Frustratingly, I still find that depression or anxiety overtakes me from time to time (like today) despite my concerted efforts. I try to give myself grace; I hope you do, too. Tonight, I will whisper a prayer for you and your family--for all of us who struggle mentally--and I look forward to reading more of your words in the future.
what a lovely note, thank you so much both for reading and writing; I share many of these thoughts, and appreciate you sharing them and your prayers. we worry so much for ours too, and all I can do is think: i’ll help them with any struggles as much as I can, and maybe it’ll be enough that for them as for me, it nets out to something worth living; I think it will, but one just never knows.
I think it will, too. Oh, and I meant to say: laissez les bons temps rouler! 🎉 My husband was born in Lake Charles and spent his early years living in and around New Orleans. He has fond memories of Mardi Gras parades in elementary school. We don't live in Louisiana; we live in Asheville, NC now, but we celebrate the holiday anyway! What a fun tradition and time for the kids!
Oh, that rules! MG is coming right up, and we're very excited; it's a blast with the kids, and Kizzy is really at the age of just getting as into it as possible. Assuming no one is sick, it should be a banger / extremely exhausting!
Mills, I'm very sorry for your loss (this is the only thing you can say! It's stupid but it is). And also kind of happy for you that so many of the perspectives you've expressed here are available to you.
Thanks man! A crazy trivial thing I've noticed —which we could have anticipated, of course— is that with each passing year, the rate of deaths increases, such that we really have to get down with whatever fuckin phrases are available! It's insane that in some of the most intense exchanges, all I have is "I'm sorry for your loss," but I mean: it would also be crazy to labor for something more "creative" or whatever in that context!
All of which is to say: thank you, I appreciate it, and feel likewise grateful (to both of them really) for having a lot of lenses or whatever.
Oh, and, I just realised last night, after sending this to Helene, that I didn't say to you how good this is, how full it is of stuff that I want to think about. One of the best pieces of writing I've read in a long time.
I think as a kid I always yearned to say _something_ in the moment that would communicate more intensely _my_ feelings. It's a young person's impulse. Eventually softened by a lifetime of watching auld fellas line up and shaking the hand and saying the only thing you can say, maybe, that makes the connection without imposing yourself on the receiver.
Mills, your words are devastatingly beautiful, and I am a better person just for having read them. If there is an afterlife, I hope there was a fast car waiting for your mom, along with your father, your brother, and a large box of Popeye's.
Thank you Cain; that means a lot to me. I will say though: if there's a heaven and a car, mom probably doesn't want dad in it; he'd be very happy knowing she's happy, and she'd be happy being free. Perhaps many such cases!!!
Welp. That didn't get written without price. So it doesn't get received for free, either. I sometimes wonder if everything sincerely recorded isn't really eulogy. Especially in small things. Inverse proportions apply between detail and import.
I didn’t sleep at all last night; I think I (once again) accidentally wrecked myself, thinking I’m sturdier because the words seem like strong boards and I mistook them for myself.
This is such an enlightened piece. If we can understand and forgive, it opens up the possibility that we will ourselves be understood and forgiven. It's no small thing to be able to express these feelings and share them with others. Thank you.
I'm so sorry to hear that; both of mine had parents with dementia / Alzheimer's, and I have no doubt it significantly informed their decisions. I'll be praying for you and her alike.
Beautiful and fitting homage in a way only you can accomplish.
This feels like an awful thing to say but I wish you could get into my head and explain my life to me in a similar way. You have a way of *seeing* that I just can't access. And the words to express what you see in a way I just don't have. I think that's what makes this a beautiful post--you saw your mother in a way that few (any?) can, and you're able to give us a glimpse into that view in words.
And it makes me reflective! What else don't I see? I really wonder.
Anyway, thank you for writing this. God rest your mother, and God bless you and yours.
If I do, it's from Ellen and Roger both; he was serious and she was light, he was systematic and she was poetic, and I was lucky to have both ways of seeing not merely represented but often insisted upon!
Oh, and thank you Scoot; you can imagine the way writing something like this makes a person feel.
You give everything and hold nothing back, Mills. A courage few will ever have. I won’t say the thing I’ve said the last few days that I’m sure has bugged you to no end (and please do not say it hasn’t) but I don’t know what “that word” means if it doesn’t mean seeing someone as they are and trying your earnest best to deal with things as they are. None of us can see as He sees us, so with our eyes too small to the Truth, we make our way as best we can and it sounds like you’ve tried to do that. Best of luck and health to you, Mills. I know it is foolish to wish a scar away, because so much is built on top of the scar tissue, but sometimes I swear I can hear His music and there is still light to see, sometimes, occasionally, this side of Heaven.
You’re the man, man; thank you. I know you know whereof I speak and in fact to a far, far greater degree. And I do have faith, at the moment, but it lives on knife’s edge in me, departs as it will (or as I fail to will, who can say).
❣️
Mills, this was utterly phenomenal. I was in tears by the end. Honest to God, this was so good, I It made me want to quit writing.
God bless you and God bless your mother.
Thank you Myles; I really appreciate that. I only realized this week that it was the blessings and prayers of others that had likely guided my life in the ways in which it's been lucky, so it means a lot. And your writing has helped me, so please don't even joke.
I have spent the morning feeling ashamed that I can't bring myself to write my father's obituary. The words are there, the love is there, but I'm struggling to write it... perhaps because I'm too much like him. Your words helped me understand this. Thank you.
My condolences for the loss of your father. I struggled with the obituaries, and the only thing that helped me was to think of them not as "the final word" or "summation" of their lives and beings, but rather as a sort of limited, formal thing: more like a "notice" than a biography.
There's no hope of putting the universes that these people —and you and all of us— are into an obituary, so I did a skeleton of the "boring data" that all obits have, then colored in around that and left it alone. Part of why I wrote this post is that nothing of my relationship with her was in the obituary; indeed, I sort of wanted myself out of it, out of frame. It's for the papers and the people.
I don't know if that's good advice, but it's how I hacked it in the state I was in. Thank you for commenting, and I hope you fare all right through the mourning; and the fact that you worry about it at all —many do not!— is all the proof of love there is.
💟
Mills,
I have so much to say about this immaculate piece of writing. Thank you for writing it. My father is bi-polar and a narcissist. I cut off communication with him nearly six years ago. There's too much to unpack there, but I will say that I can relate to some of what you've said here about your mother, and I appreciate you writing so openly and honestly about your relationship and experience. We need more illuminating stories like yours in this dark world. Finally, I just want to add that I went back and forth quite a bit on whether or not to have children because of the laundry list of mental illnesses that run in my family (BPD, bi-polar, addiction, suicide, schizophrenia, anxiety, depression, alcoholism, OCD, etc.). But, in the end, I longed for the experience. I desperately wanted--needed--to re-introduce joy into my life after my fourteen-year-old brother's suicide. My two little suns have brightened it beyond my wildest dreams. They are 3 and almost 5 now, and I am clinging to this magical chapter. And, I am praying that they will not struggle the way that I do, the way that my parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, and uncles did. I'm doing everything in my might to better myself (somatic therapy, spending time in nature, eating well, etc.), so that they can better themselves if and when that shadow appears. Frustratingly, I still find that depression or anxiety overtakes me from time to time (like today) despite my concerted efforts. I try to give myself grace; I hope you do, too. Tonight, I will whisper a prayer for you and your family--for all of us who struggle mentally--and I look forward to reading more of your words in the future.
what a lovely note, thank you so much both for reading and writing; I share many of these thoughts, and appreciate you sharing them and your prayers. we worry so much for ours too, and all I can do is think: i’ll help them with any struggles as much as I can, and maybe it’ll be enough that for them as for me, it nets out to something worth living; I think it will, but one just never knows.
I think it will, too. Oh, and I meant to say: laissez les bons temps rouler! 🎉 My husband was born in Lake Charles and spent his early years living in and around New Orleans. He has fond memories of Mardi Gras parades in elementary school. We don't live in Louisiana; we live in Asheville, NC now, but we celebrate the holiday anyway! What a fun tradition and time for the kids!
Oh, that rules! MG is coming right up, and we're very excited; it's a blast with the kids, and Kizzy is really at the age of just getting as into it as possible. Assuming no one is sick, it should be a banger / extremely exhausting!
Mills, I'm very sorry for your loss (this is the only thing you can say! It's stupid but it is). And also kind of happy for you that so many of the perspectives you've expressed here are available to you.
Thanks man! A crazy trivial thing I've noticed —which we could have anticipated, of course— is that with each passing year, the rate of deaths increases, such that we really have to get down with whatever fuckin phrases are available! It's insane that in some of the most intense exchanges, all I have is "I'm sorry for your loss," but I mean: it would also be crazy to labor for something more "creative" or whatever in that context!
All of which is to say: thank you, I appreciate it, and feel likewise grateful (to both of them really) for having a lot of lenses or whatever.
Oh, and, I just realised last night, after sending this to Helene, that I didn't say to you how good this is, how full it is of stuff that I want to think about. One of the best pieces of writing I've read in a long time.
I think as a kid I always yearned to say _something_ in the moment that would communicate more intensely _my_ feelings. It's a young person's impulse. Eventually softened by a lifetime of watching auld fellas line up and shaking the hand and saying the only thing you can say, maybe, that makes the connection without imposing yourself on the receiver.
Mills, your words are devastatingly beautiful, and I am a better person just for having read them. If there is an afterlife, I hope there was a fast car waiting for your mom, along with your father, your brother, and a large box of Popeye's.
Thank you Cain; that means a lot to me. I will say though: if there's a heaven and a car, mom probably doesn't want dad in it; he'd be very happy knowing she's happy, and she'd be happy being free. Perhaps many such cases!!!
Along with the piece about your father, this is deep and gorgeous.
Your mum was a beautiful woman. It's generous of you to share both your writing and the photographs.
🙏💖
Welp. That didn't get written without price. So it doesn't get received for free, either. I sometimes wonder if everything sincerely recorded isn't really eulogy. Especially in small things. Inverse proportions apply between detail and import.
I didn’t sleep at all last night; I think I (once again) accidentally wrecked myself, thinking I’m sturdier because the words seem like strong boards and I mistook them for myself.
Always, I try to keep some daylight between me and those boards. Sometimes this is enough to keep the morning vertical.
This is an incredible eulogy, Mills
I cried and read and cried and read.
This is such an enlightened piece. If we can understand and forgive, it opens up the possibility that we will ourselves be understood and forgiven. It's no small thing to be able to express these feelings and share them with others. Thank you.
Well, that was a gut punch, now wrangling with my mother's own tumble into dementia. Thank you, Mills.
I'm so sorry to hear that; both of mine had parents with dementia / Alzheimer's, and I have no doubt it significantly informed their decisions. I'll be praying for you and her alike.
So sweet and sad, like one of my favorite Paul Simon songs
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iUODdPpnxcA
Very Beautiful ❤️ I feel identified, thanks 🌹