Wow Mary. I am lacking the words to describe the power of this essay. The words come like a wave of truth and wash over me as I read them. What lingers is that courage and sense of knowing you share through your words. Our calling finds us. Our calling will find a way. And we must rise to the occasion. Else our loving ghosts will haunt us
I must write because I must.
Thank you Mary! What a gift you shared with me in this jumble of letters and love. 🙏
Nina, thank you for your kindness. You are a model of courage, diving into the deepest places of consciousness and bringing up those gleaming bits of wisdom: Rise to the occasion, or our loving ghosts will haunt us. So true!
"The story must have brought some healing to a lifetime wound." This is a sentence which opens up seams of meaning to explore. Your writing has a compelling geological "thereness" to it, Mary. You are helping our wounds to heal.
Jeffrey, I think we all have these small openings where understanding can enter. As Leonard Cohen put it, “There is a crack in everything/That’s how the light gets in.” As writers, we might aspire to be of use by thinking of the faults and fissures in our lives, and how they match up with those of others. I don’t know if I’m in any way a healer. But I’m honored to put on a headlamp and grab a pickaxe.
Just, wow. I loved your latest essay. In particular, your reference of dear EKR or Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, is bang on ... and ... she lamented the fact that people took her research, that was focused on the dying, and made it into a full-service model of how to eradicate grief. On her death bed, she pleaded with people to stop seeing it as a linear model and more as some of the ways we experience life, when it goes sideways.
I'm a grief doula and a certified thanatologist -- it just means I geek out on all thing grief and loss. I've learned so much since my younger sister Tracy died from a rare form of cancer. I've learned that DABDA is a myth and that no map can fully describe the territory of our grief.
Our griefscape deserves our attention. And I'm grateful to find other grief geeks like you to connect with. Thank you for sharing your work. xxoo
Dina, my condolences on the loss of your sister. Cancer is cruel. To come back from this experience with a desire to help others through their grief, however, is a blessing. What a tragedy that the insights of EKR should be mashed up in such a reductive way. I like the term “griefscape.” It implies that do not all see our losses in the same culturally sanctioned way. Thank you for your kind words. I’m glad this piece spoke to you.
I am such a fan of your writing. I always look forward to reading your essays. I think you might be my favorite writer on Substack. Oops. Should I say that? For sure, you're in my top 3. There, that's sounds safer, kinder, right?
I'm so sorry your husband's death was the catalyst for beginning your Substack. I'm certain he'd be very proud of you, my friend.
Nancy, I’m deeply honored. I’d be thrilled to be in your top forty if there’s a bullet next to my name, as in the olden days when a bullet meant you were moving up the charts!
Thank you for your thoughts about my husband. I miss him every moment, but am thankful for his last gift to me, and his continued presence in my life. Sometimes it’s spooky to see him out of the corner of my eye, knowing that he’s not “real.” Sending love.❤️
I meant every word. You must miss him so. Yes, what a gift that was, and his presence will always be with you. He's there, not in the way you want, but there, nonetheless.
You are an exquisite writer, and I'm so glad you hit Publish on that first Substack essay.
I'm so very sorry about your husband. I couldn't believe that the faulty "five stages" of grief has that weird acronym. Your husband knew you were a writer, and I find it so endearing that he loved who you were -- no need to hide journals.
Beth, you are so kind. I think hitting Publish was a moment in my life that I can rank up there with setting down my copy of Alice in Wonderland, knowing that I was a writer.
Thank you for your condolences. There are so many problems with the 5 stages trope that I don’t know where to begin. It is purely anecdotal, based on extrapolation from a limited number of dying patients, and meant to apply to their experiences, not to those of the survivors. I’ll stop there.
It was heartbreaking to my husband to see how thoroughly I had internalized the message that my writing was something to be hidden from the world. His message at the end of his life was the spark I needed.
Thank you again, Beth, for your generous and supportive words.🙏💕
Your writing is always a pleasure. Sarah Fay says everyone scrolls through after the first few paragraphs and I certainly understand what she is saying, but I read yours word for word!
Norway is beautiful but VERY expensive! My son-in-law is Norwegian. My daughter in law is from New Orleans! Both my children were brought up in England and are very English. You could move to Montana - it looks gorgeous in the movies.
The honour is all mine, even if we spell it differently. I didn't know that you read my posts so assiduously. The next one sidles into your territory with the title "Who will go first?" with some thoughts before the event.
Ann, I don’t think they show up in my inbox! But I read every one I find in my feed. (Terrible word.) It goes to show that I need to pare back my subscriptions to make sure I receive the ones that matter, like yours. Looking forward to reading the latest. “Who goes first” is a topic we avoided.
Mary. this makes me wonder whether you are actually subscribed, rather than just following. You, I believe, quite a bit younger. Ray is 84, I am 83. Neither of us feels like we are on death's door, but you just never know and it is something we both think about quite a bit. We would be in denial if we didn't!
Haven’t I subscribed? If not, I will, immediately. My husband and I were in total denial. Even when he was very ill, he didn’t share things I needed to know about taking care of the house. Or even passwords! Magical thinking: if we don’t acknowledge the possibility, it won’t happen. Makes me wonder how deeply that belief affects us.
Just checked and the email is a bit odd but it says Mary Roblyn next to it, so I assume you are subscribed. I don’t know why they aren’t reaching your email box. They go out every other Wednesday at 13.00 hours UK time - it’s only fortnightly (I originally set it for fortnightly on the assumption that subscribers wouldn’t want more than that, but it is a lot easier on my tired bones!) Anyway, I am so pleased you are a reader, as I am such an admirer of your writing, in which I am clearly not alone.
I was subscribed! Now I will definitely cull my subscriptions and make sure you’re on my “safe” list. (Anything in your past I need to know about?😊) Thanks, Ann!
Mary, thank you for this inspirational piece. I’m my husband’s primary caregiver after he fell 4 years ago and suffered traumatic brain injury. Sometimes I think nobody wants to hear another complaint from me, yet sharing my emotions provides therapeutic exercise for me and others relate. I’m 80 years old and am gradually giving up pieces of my man of 55 years. Keep sharing your journey!
Careen, I have friends who have also been caregivers to their spouses for years. I can only imagine how exhausting it is. I’m so sorry to hear that some people don’t want to hear about your struggles, but glad you’ve found a supportive group. Sending love.❤️ (And yes, I will keep writing!)
Stunningly beautiful and resonant. I, too, have had countless interruptions on “the path” though the word interruption would imply that I had an end goal. Unlike you, I was wayward, following a very crooked, looping, disjointed path, and only in hindsight can see how it brought me here, to Substack, to the written page. It’s important for the world to see fruition and harvest happen later in life, and it’s so clear that—after a lifetime of digging in the dirt—your basket is now bountiful.
Kimberley, what a lovely comment. I have to say that my own journey was disjointed as well. There’s a lot of self-blame I have a hard time putting behind me. It’s a daily practice: lovingkindness towards others AND myself. You’re here, you’re on Substack, and I’m so grateful to know you.🙏
Del, I’m glad to hear that taking on a new artistic challenge. I’ve thought about learning to play the piano, and I may still do it. There are worse practices in this world.
Thanks for sharing. This speaks powerfully as well to anyone attempting a creative endeavor other than writing, especially if they are thinking maybe their time has passed. Works for me in my efforts at the piano at a not-so-tender age. Much appreciated.
I keep writing. Three simple words. Perfect. Encouraging. Mary, just when I think, I’d like to read what Mary’s been writing, as I did this morning with my morning cuppa, I'm once again not disappointed! Thank you for sharing your heart. xo
Maureen! Thank you so much for sharing a (virtual) cuppa with me, and for your splendid psychic abilities. I think that “I keep writing” are my new three words. A little Post-it means a lot. Thank you for your kindness. xoxo
Mary, we are kindred online writing souls. My recent Post-it note: write another book. And now I might have to add another that says “I keep writing inspired by Mary Roblyn.”
Thank you for writing. My own grief has opened my heart as well, and I'm in that "I should start writing on Substack" phase. You nudge me. For that I'm grateful.
Perhaps a writer can't really write anything effectively until grief enters their life. And it's not necessarily a literal death, but a series of deaths throughout the years ... those interruptions that create a bit of grief in the changing of directions. I also started writing when young, at thirteen during a boring day at my friends campground. We took a couple of notepads off the shelf and started writing. I finished mine and handed it to my ninth grade teacher. Her encouragement, and that thrill you mentioned in this article, was all I needed to continue. But, it wasn't until I was older and had more life experiences and griefs under my belt that my stories rang true. Like you, it wasn't until the Internet, and especially Substack, that the word "publish" actually meant success. I love reading about how you process your grief. Please, keep writing.
Sue, it is true that we grow through time and experience. Our culture compartmentalizes death and gives us a limited time to “process” grief. It’s a surprise, then, to understand that grief goes hand in hand with love. I’m glad to hear that you had the wise teacher who sent you in the direction of joy. Thank you for your kind words. Yes, I will definitely keep writing!
This is a lovely and tender reflection that beautifully weaves together your experiences of loss and love, and how both called you to raise your voice again, as the writer you are. You write with grace and gratitude.
Robert MacFarlane, in "The Old Ways," writes, "A walk is only a step away from a story, and every path tells." May we continue to follow you on your path.
Maureen, I’m honored by your kindness. It still feels odd, this mixture of sadness and joy. How unexpected that grief should bring back the writer in me. Thank you for the McFarlane quote. I will treasure it, along with your generous remarks.
Mary, I'm glad that you continue to write. This piece read like poetry to me.
Thank you, Bill.🙏
Wow Mary. I am lacking the words to describe the power of this essay. The words come like a wave of truth and wash over me as I read them. What lingers is that courage and sense of knowing you share through your words. Our calling finds us. Our calling will find a way. And we must rise to the occasion. Else our loving ghosts will haunt us
I must write because I must.
Thank you Mary! What a gift you shared with me in this jumble of letters and love. 🙏
Nina, thank you for your kindness. You are a model of courage, diving into the deepest places of consciousness and bringing up those gleaming bits of wisdom: Rise to the occasion, or our loving ghosts will haunt us. So true!
"The story must have brought some healing to a lifetime wound." This is a sentence which opens up seams of meaning to explore. Your writing has a compelling geological "thereness" to it, Mary. You are helping our wounds to heal.
Jeffrey, I think we all have these small openings where understanding can enter. As Leonard Cohen put it, “There is a crack in everything/That’s how the light gets in.” As writers, we might aspire to be of use by thinking of the faults and fissures in our lives, and how they match up with those of others. I don’t know if I’m in any way a healer. But I’m honored to put on a headlamp and grab a pickaxe.
Your Davy lamp lightens our darkness, Mary!
Just, wow. I loved your latest essay. In particular, your reference of dear EKR or Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, is bang on ... and ... she lamented the fact that people took her research, that was focused on the dying, and made it into a full-service model of how to eradicate grief. On her death bed, she pleaded with people to stop seeing it as a linear model and more as some of the ways we experience life, when it goes sideways.
I'm a grief doula and a certified thanatologist -- it just means I geek out on all thing grief and loss. I've learned so much since my younger sister Tracy died from a rare form of cancer. I've learned that DABDA is a myth and that no map can fully describe the territory of our grief.
Our griefscape deserves our attention. And I'm grateful to find other grief geeks like you to connect with. Thank you for sharing your work. xxoo
Dina, my condolences on the loss of your sister. Cancer is cruel. To come back from this experience with a desire to help others through their grief, however, is a blessing. What a tragedy that the insights of EKR should be mashed up in such a reductive way. I like the term “griefscape.” It implies that do not all see our losses in the same culturally sanctioned way. Thank you for your kind words. I’m glad this piece spoke to you.
Hi Mary,
I am such a fan of your writing. I always look forward to reading your essays. I think you might be my favorite writer on Substack. Oops. Should I say that? For sure, you're in my top 3. There, that's sounds safer, kinder, right?
I'm so sorry your husband's death was the catalyst for beginning your Substack. I'm certain he'd be very proud of you, my friend.
Nancy, I’m deeply honored. I’d be thrilled to be in your top forty if there’s a bullet next to my name, as in the olden days when a bullet meant you were moving up the charts!
Thank you for your thoughts about my husband. I miss him every moment, but am thankful for his last gift to me, and his continued presence in my life. Sometimes it’s spooky to see him out of the corner of my eye, knowing that he’s not “real.” Sending love.❤️
I meant every word. You must miss him so. Yes, what a gift that was, and his presence will always be with you. He's there, not in the way you want, but there, nonetheless.
Hi Mary,
You are an exquisite writer, and I'm so glad you hit Publish on that first Substack essay.
I'm so very sorry about your husband. I couldn't believe that the faulty "five stages" of grief has that weird acronym. Your husband knew you were a writer, and I find it so endearing that he loved who you were -- no need to hide journals.
Sending hugs....
Beth, you are so kind. I think hitting Publish was a moment in my life that I can rank up there with setting down my copy of Alice in Wonderland, knowing that I was a writer.
Thank you for your condolences. There are so many problems with the 5 stages trope that I don’t know where to begin. It is purely anecdotal, based on extrapolation from a limited number of dying patients, and meant to apply to their experiences, not to those of the survivors. I’ll stop there.
It was heartbreaking to my husband to see how thoroughly I had internalized the message that my writing was something to be hidden from the world. His message at the end of his life was the spark I needed.
Thank you again, Beth, for your generous and supportive words.🙏💕
Your writing is always a pleasure. Sarah Fay says everyone scrolls through after the first few paragraphs and I certainly understand what she is saying, but I read yours word for word!
Norway is beautiful but VERY expensive! My son-in-law is Norwegian. My daughter in law is from New Orleans! Both my children were brought up in England and are very English. You could move to Montana - it looks gorgeous in the movies.
I have never been to Minnesota but I read Garrison Keillor and am getting a bit of an idea. Do you read his Substack?
I don’t read it regularly. I listened to A Prairie Home Companion, but that’s been gone for years.
Ann, thank you so much! I appreciate your comment more than I can say. Coming from someone whose posts I always read to the end, it is a great honor.
The honour is all mine, even if we spell it differently. I didn't know that you read my posts so assiduously. The next one sidles into your territory with the title "Who will go first?" with some thoughts before the event.
Ann, I don’t think they show up in my inbox! But I read every one I find in my feed. (Terrible word.) It goes to show that I need to pare back my subscriptions to make sure I receive the ones that matter, like yours. Looking forward to reading the latest. “Who goes first” is a topic we avoided.
Mary. this makes me wonder whether you are actually subscribed, rather than just following. You, I believe, quite a bit younger. Ray is 84, I am 83. Neither of us feels like we are on death's door, but you just never know and it is something we both think about quite a bit. We would be in denial if we didn't!
Haven’t I subscribed? If not, I will, immediately. My husband and I were in total denial. Even when he was very ill, he didn’t share things I needed to know about taking care of the house. Or even passwords! Magical thinking: if we don’t acknowledge the possibility, it won’t happen. Makes me wonder how deeply that belief affects us.
Just checked and the email is a bit odd but it says Mary Roblyn next to it, so I assume you are subscribed. I don’t know why they aren’t reaching your email box. They go out every other Wednesday at 13.00 hours UK time - it’s only fortnightly (I originally set it for fortnightly on the assumption that subscribers wouldn’t want more than that, but it is a lot easier on my tired bones!) Anyway, I am so pleased you are a reader, as I am such an admirer of your writing, in which I am clearly not alone.
I was subscribed! Now I will definitely cull my subscriptions and make sure you’re on my “safe” list. (Anything in your past I need to know about?😊) Thanks, Ann!
lovely renewing inspiring as always. thank you.
Nancy, thank you! You are so generous. 🙏💛
Mary, thank you for this inspirational piece. I’m my husband’s primary caregiver after he fell 4 years ago and suffered traumatic brain injury. Sometimes I think nobody wants to hear another complaint from me, yet sharing my emotions provides therapeutic exercise for me and others relate. I’m 80 years old and am gradually giving up pieces of my man of 55 years. Keep sharing your journey!
Careen, I have friends who have also been caregivers to their spouses for years. I can only imagine how exhausting it is. I’m so sorry to hear that some people don’t want to hear about your struggles, but glad you’ve found a supportive group. Sending love.❤️ (And yes, I will keep writing!)
Stunningly beautiful and resonant. I, too, have had countless interruptions on “the path” though the word interruption would imply that I had an end goal. Unlike you, I was wayward, following a very crooked, looping, disjointed path, and only in hindsight can see how it brought me here, to Substack, to the written page. It’s important for the world to see fruition and harvest happen later in life, and it’s so clear that—after a lifetime of digging in the dirt—your basket is now bountiful.
Kimberley, what a lovely comment. I have to say that my own journey was disjointed as well. There’s a lot of self-blame I have a hard time putting behind me. It’s a daily practice: lovingkindness towards others AND myself. You’re here, you’re on Substack, and I’m so grateful to know you.🙏
I know that self-blame too. And the should’ve would’ve could’ve. Learning to be kind even to her. 🙏
Del, I’m glad to hear that taking on a new artistic challenge. I’ve thought about learning to play the piano, and I may still do it. There are worse practices in this world.
Thanks for sharing. This speaks powerfully as well to anyone attempting a creative endeavor other than writing, especially if they are thinking maybe their time has passed. Works for me in my efforts at the piano at a not-so-tender age. Much appreciated.
I keep writing. Three simple words. Perfect. Encouraging. Mary, just when I think, I’d like to read what Mary’s been writing, as I did this morning with my morning cuppa, I'm once again not disappointed! Thank you for sharing your heart. xo
Maureen! Thank you so much for sharing a (virtual) cuppa with me, and for your splendid psychic abilities. I think that “I keep writing” are my new three words. A little Post-it means a lot. Thank you for your kindness. xoxo
Mary, we are kindred online writing souls. My recent Post-it note: write another book. And now I might have to add another that says “I keep writing inspired by Mary Roblyn.”
🫶❤️💕
Thank you for writing. My own grief has opened my heart as well, and I'm in that "I should start writing on Substack" phase. You nudge me. For that I'm grateful.
Bill, just do it. You’re already there.😊
Perhaps a writer can't really write anything effectively until grief enters their life. And it's not necessarily a literal death, but a series of deaths throughout the years ... those interruptions that create a bit of grief in the changing of directions. I also started writing when young, at thirteen during a boring day at my friends campground. We took a couple of notepads off the shelf and started writing. I finished mine and handed it to my ninth grade teacher. Her encouragement, and that thrill you mentioned in this article, was all I needed to continue. But, it wasn't until I was older and had more life experiences and griefs under my belt that my stories rang true. Like you, it wasn't until the Internet, and especially Substack, that the word "publish" actually meant success. I love reading about how you process your grief. Please, keep writing.
Sue, it is true that we grow through time and experience. Our culture compartmentalizes death and gives us a limited time to “process” grief. It’s a surprise, then, to understand that grief goes hand in hand with love. I’m glad to hear that you had the wise teacher who sent you in the direction of joy. Thank you for your kind words. Yes, I will definitely keep writing!
This is a lovely and tender reflection that beautifully weaves together your experiences of loss and love, and how both called you to raise your voice again, as the writer you are. You write with grace and gratitude.
Robert MacFarlane, in "The Old Ways," writes, "A walk is only a step away from a story, and every path tells." May we continue to follow you on your path.
Maureen, I’m honored by your kindness. It still feels odd, this mixture of sadness and joy. How unexpected that grief should bring back the writer in me. Thank you for the McFarlane quote. I will treasure it, along with your generous remarks.