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."
Jackie, How lovely. I'm so glad you found our collaborative newsletter. As you know, I read your poem about your loss and was quite moved. I've also sent you a direct message and will be in touch. ~ 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.
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. 💕🙏
Ah, how well-put, Veronica--even down to my choice for the photo--I've had it a long time and perhaps they are Japanese Camelias. Thank you so for your beautifully stated words.
Mary, coming back to this piece for a second time (which is just as moving this time around), my attention was caught by the flowers. The Japanese Camelias - 藪椿 or tsubaki - have been a joy for me here in Tokyo this spring. They adorn so many gardens that I see as I walk in my neighbourhood. I dug a little into their cultural meaning here. And found this:
"Tsubaki oil also played a diplomatic role in early missions between Japan and China. From approximately 607 C.E. to 839 C.E., Japan sent political and cultural representatives to China on a series of missions called kentōshi that resulted in important political, technological, religious, and cultural exchange between the two nations. Among the gifts the Japanese envoys brought on these critical diplomatic missions was Japanese camellia oil." https://www.tokyonaturalist.com/post/camellia-japonica-the-history-culture-and-ecology-of-the-japanese-camellia
It makes me think of the precious cultural exchange that happens here on Substack and the beautiful gifts that we receive as readers from writers like you. Thank you!
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.
Oh what a wise choice your family made, Matthew. I'm so glad you shared that with me and others who might read this. Thank you so for your generous and kind words.
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.
Oh, Jacob, such generous and heartfelt words, beautifully expressed and with such kindness. My heart to yours, ~ Mary
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.
Jackie, How lovely. I'm so glad you found our collaborative newsletter. As you know, I read your poem about your loss and was quite moved. I've also sent you a direct message and will be in touch. ~ Mary
Thank you so much, Mary
So, so beautiful, dreamy. My sister will love your story too. Thank you.
I'm so glad, Deb. My heartfelt thanks for reading and taking the time to comment.
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
Dear Ian, I love the work of Naomi Shihab Nye and that poem in particular. Here is another that moves me deeply:
"Letters swallow themselves in seconds.
Notes friends tied to the doorknob,
transparent scarlet paper,
sizzle like moth wings,
marry the air.
"So much of any year is flammable,
lists of vegetables, partial poems.
Orange swirling flame of days,
so little is a stone.
"Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,
an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.
I begin again with the smallest numbers.
Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,
only the things I didn’t do
crackle after the blazing dies".
Naomi Shihab Nye, “Burning the Old Year” from Words Under the Words: Selected Poems (Portland, Oregon: Far Corner Books, 1995). Copyright © 1995 by Naomi Shihab Nye.
Thank you for such a thoughtful and lovely comment. I hope you will write for us again. ~ Mary
Such a beautiful, beautiful tribute.
Heart to heart, Stephanie Sweeney. My thanks, xx ~ Mary
That is a beautiful essay.
Lovely of you to take the time to read and say, Debby.
“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. ❤️
The eloquence of you comment, Kimberly, not only honors me but speaks volumes about you and your gifts.
Simply wonderful, Mary!
Thank you, Jeffrey. Looking forward to yours. coming!
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.
Oh, David, my heart swells ...
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
How lovely and cute, too: Makin' my day, Mark!
The graceful dance of your words and imagery deepen my empathy while providing me hope.
Lovely Laura--so full of empathy yourself. I treasure you and this comment. "Graceful dance" honors me so.
Thank you for this gift. I feel your sister's essence in your words
"Her wave, full of hope and risk—that fearless wave."
Ah, E.T. Allen, I miss her so--and, man, was she fearless! How kind of you to take the time to comment and with such resonance.
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. 💕🙏
Ah, how well-put, Veronica--even down to my choice for the photo--I've had it a long time and perhaps they are Japanese Camelias. Thank you so for your beautifully stated words.
Mary, coming back to this piece for a second time (which is just as moving this time around), my attention was caught by the flowers. The Japanese Camelias - 藪椿 or tsubaki - have been a joy for me here in Tokyo this spring. They adorn so many gardens that I see as I walk in my neighbourhood. I dug a little into their cultural meaning here. And found this:
"Tsubaki oil also played a diplomatic role in early missions between Japan and China. From approximately 607 C.E. to 839 C.E., Japan sent political and cultural representatives to China on a series of missions called kentōshi that resulted in important political, technological, religious, and cultural exchange between the two nations. Among the gifts the Japanese envoys brought on these critical diplomatic missions was Japanese camellia oil." https://www.tokyonaturalist.com/post/camellia-japonica-the-history-culture-and-ecology-of-the-japanese-camellia
It makes me think of the precious cultural exchange that happens here on Substack and the beautiful gifts that we receive as readers from writers like you. Thank you!
Indeed--you add so much...
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.
Oh what a wise choice your family made, Matthew. I'm so glad you shared that with me and others who might read this. Thank you so for your generous and kind words.
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
Oh, Elizabeth, such artfully phrased thoughts on what I attempted here: exactly stated!
"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.
Lovely comment, Joshua. Thank you so.