Mary, as the other commenters have already pointed out, this is such beautiful, heartfelt writing. Your reflections are moving and your writing always leaves me inspired. Your work is always a gift—so glad you're here on Substack. Thank you.
Such beautiful writing, Mary. I am so sorry for your losses. Your poetic tribute - to your son, your mother, your father, your sister - touched my heart deeply.
Your description of your mother's brass candelabra made me think of grief, how it ages and softens and yet endures in our hearts: "its shine has been softened to sheen, like memories."
How wonderful is that plate of memories of your family. You have known loss, that is certain. Then it is no surprise that you must be kind. For your writing reminds me of Kindness, Naomi Shihab Nye's luminous poem, perhaps one of the finest of the 20th century. I know of no opening to any piece of literature than these lines that more strikes at the back of my knees and sinks me down:
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
Thank you for writing so beautifully and memorably. I am very pleased at the success of Inner Life, and still aspire to write a piece than can rank alongside the posts there.
That was achingly beautiful. There's a lot of magic and camaraderie that goes into preparing a seder. You captured the textures and the smells of the food so well. I can see the translucent dough and smell the kugel.
I liked this piece, a lot. As for the quotes, I'm a fan of Brenè Brown and T.S. Eliot too - and I know someone who is related to T.S. Eliot as well. I feel so lofty, literate and worldly when I say that. As for this writer - this hot muffin Mary Tabor ... you can come by anytime - no need to call or write, just knock on my door and blow in my year ... I'm likely to follow you (not just on Substack) .... Good Pesach ...
This piece is so moving, so beautifully written, so full of surprises, so memorable. You capture so much in such few words, every beloved member of your family in their own unique ways, every relationship with them in its uniqueness, it's all in those few lines, full of love and grief, vulnerability and gratitude and everything in between. As tender and gorgeous as the Japanese Camellias (?) on a mahogany table. 💕🙏
Always delighted by your words Mary. A few years ago my wife and I sat down with our children and asked if they wanted things for gifts or experiences for gifts. As a family we universally decided that experiences were much preferred for the memories they create. We can take our memories with us and cherish them long after the things of this world have disappeared. Thanks for this beautiful essay this morning.
How beautiful and artful this is, Mary. It moves like memory: one thing leads to another. Grief and joy are inseparable, aren’t they, no matter how much I wish they weren’t. As Joshua said in his comment, you’ve given us a beautiful gift. Xo
"Although that table has long been sold, replaced in more ways than I can count, the table stands. It was home and family, and with it I reached for the mantle of my heritage, passed by my mother, her hand gently extended." Such a lovely essay, Mary. Thanks for this gift today.
Mary, as the other commenters have already pointed out, this is such beautiful, heartfelt writing. Your reflections are moving and your writing always leaves me inspired. Your work is always a gift—so glad you're here on Substack. Thank you.
Such beautiful writing, Mary. I am so sorry for your losses. Your poetic tribute - to your son, your mother, your father, your sister - touched my heart deeply.
Your description of your mother's brass candelabra made me think of grief, how it ages and softens and yet endures in our hearts: "its shine has been softened to sheen, like memories."
Thank you for this beautiful essay.
So, so beautiful, dreamy. My sister will love your story too. Thank you.
Dear Mary
How wonderful is that plate of memories of your family. You have known loss, that is certain. Then it is no surprise that you must be kind. For your writing reminds me of Kindness, Naomi Shihab Nye's luminous poem, perhaps one of the finest of the 20th century. I know of no opening to any piece of literature than these lines that more strikes at the back of my knees and sinks me down:
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
Thank you for writing so beautifully and memorably. I am very pleased at the success of Inner Life, and still aspire to write a piece than can rank alongside the posts there.
Warm regards
Such a beautiful, beautiful tribute.
That is a beautiful essay.
“Love may speak in waves of silence…”
So many images you paint here, each as precious as a cherished photograph, each as silent as the love that holds them.
Your words always fill the room with silence Mary. Replacing memory, longing, and possibility with pure feeling. ❤️
Simply wonderful, Mary!
Mary,
That was achingly beautiful. There's a lot of magic and camaraderie that goes into preparing a seder. You captured the textures and the smells of the food so well. I can see the translucent dough and smell the kugel.
I liked this piece, a lot. As for the quotes, I'm a fan of Brenè Brown and T.S. Eliot too - and I know someone who is related to T.S. Eliot as well. I feel so lofty, literate and worldly when I say that. As for this writer - this hot muffin Mary Tabor ... you can come by anytime - no need to call or write, just knock on my door and blow in my year ... I'm likely to follow you (not just on Substack) .... Good Pesach ...
Cheers,
Mark
The graceful dance of your words and imagery deepen my empathy while providing me hope.
Thank you for this gift. I feel your sister's essence in your words
"Her wave, full of hope and risk—that fearless wave."
This piece is so moving, so beautifully written, so full of surprises, so memorable. You capture so much in such few words, every beloved member of your family in their own unique ways, every relationship with them in its uniqueness, it's all in those few lines, full of love and grief, vulnerability and gratitude and everything in between. As tender and gorgeous as the Japanese Camellias (?) on a mahogany table. 💕🙏
Always delighted by your words Mary. A few years ago my wife and I sat down with our children and asked if they wanted things for gifts or experiences for gifts. As a family we universally decided that experiences were much preferred for the memories they create. We can take our memories with us and cherish them long after the things of this world have disappeared. Thanks for this beautiful essay this morning.
How beautiful and artful this is, Mary. It moves like memory: one thing leads to another. Grief and joy are inseparable, aren’t they, no matter how much I wish they weren’t. As Joshua said in his comment, you’ve given us a beautiful gift. Xo
"Although that table has long been sold, replaced in more ways than I can count, the table stands. It was home and family, and with it I reached for the mantle of my heritage, passed by my mother, her hand gently extended." Such a lovely essay, Mary. Thanks for this gift today.