love. my heart pulses out a beat for you and it is a song that makes sense.
I think writing a letter to yrself and really mailing it is a good reminder of the change in spirits from day to day.
Large fountain pops and a day in bed.
So much love to you friend.

a stiff drink, jk... butterflies and all things fragile, like butterfly eggs. Somehow they make it and that gives me hope.

Looking at the stars at night. The smell of my children's heads. Old picture albums and re-telling the stories about them. Paper and pens, right out of the box. Cupcakes. Big glasses of milk (there's just something about them that makes me feel comforted and small like a child) The fresh spring wind. How the ocean sweeps itself clean every night and makes a new canvas every morning. Canoe paddles. Old knives. Copper pennies, and half-done projects.

Hugs and comforts to you, my friend.

Nothing really helps me completely. But the sunrise tomorrow is inevitable. It helps me to know that...

Holding my daughter in bed at night (or anytime of day, for that matter). Listening to her breathe. Holding her jittery little body as she falls off to sleep and her mutterings of love just before she goes--that's what gets me though hellish moments. If not for that, I don't know where I'd be.

Wishing you those hopeful moments.

A look, a hug, crocuses in wintertime, ice cream on a cold wet day. "Jesus on the Mainline" on steel-string guitar: http://www.paulasbell.com/ssa2.html

I've come to love you through your writing. Blessings.

Love to you, Kate.

Oh, and I almost forgot; I often take advantage of two strong and loving arms that sleep beside me at night. Being held by an innately good man does wonders and is highly underrated. Letting him know he can hold me up sometimes makes us both so much stronger. :)

my children are outside right now making a home for a worm they found roaming the backyard. Poor guy was probably just passing through...

I don't know how that will help, but it's something.

The first sounds of birds in the spring. Our cat when he takes a nap on my shoulders. Falling in love with a new author. Cello solos. The buds on the trees. Lying on my back in the damp-grass and humming. Prairie fires. Every night, waiting, hoping.

You've probably heard this before.....that death is like a ship, those it leaves behind on the shores weap. But the other shore welcomes the ship. I like to think that those that leave this earthly life are welcomed home on another shore. At least that thought helps me.

When my father and maternal grandmother were still alive, they had a long-running debate regarding who was better-looking (my grandmother added the provision 'in the prime of youth' to correct for the 25-odd year age difference).

I like to think that they both look so young and fabulous now (wherever they are) that there's no point in arguing.

Here's something I like to listen to in these moments...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HIil8k5QnFU

So sorry about your grandmother.

Aww, shit Kate.

That I knew her, that I knew her foibles, that she passed along her blue eyes and big cheeks and fondness for sweets and reading mysteries. And I think about that every time I use her china, which I try to work in frequently, just for fun. Oh, and that she may never, ever foist pimento-olive-laden jello on someone as "salad" ever again.

knowing that our beginning is love & our ending is just another opening to love too. and that the journey in between is the magic, everything that really matters in this life is in the moment, when we stop and really see and feel what is around us and within us. all is well is whispered in that space. comforting hugs & love.

Love. Hot showers. Old photographs. The way the sun catches on leaves when it's shining through a tree. Fresh fruit. Wine. Cake. The little things.
Hang in there.

A letter from somebody special via the mail. The smell of a new book. Fresh cut flowers. Pizza with extra cheese. Wine - decanted and enjoyed like a grown-up - makes me feel like I'm pretending to be a grown-up instead of actually being one. The smell my boy's hair. Heavenly Day by Patty Grifith http://popup.lala.com/popup/504684659309544565 and The Weepies I Gotta Have You. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2NKj8NktLs8. Fresh baked anything. Photo albums and keepsakes that help me remember other times and places and other versions of myself for perspective on where I've arrived and how much more there still is (knock on wood).

Thinking of Lhasa has helped me a lot lately. So, thanks for that. Her songs open up new worlds, don't they?

Also: my father, who was sick all my life and died young of a crippling disease - he had an electric wheelchair job toward the end there. When it snowed, he would go out and do doughnuts and figure eights with the thing, just to make us laugh. And because... why not?

That's just to say: he died, but that is only one thing. Who he was cannot be 'closed or broken'. Healing to you and yours.

Sticking, scribbling, splodging, daubing. Stretching and breathing. Cooking an enormous Thai green curry. Hot baths. Clean hair. Singing loudly and from the heart.

My love to you Kate x

I'm so sorry Kate. When I feel especially sad and hopeless I go to the ocean. The smell of the salt air, the feel of the water between my toes and the sounds of the sea birds make me feel better always. I wish I could offer you more...Hugs

Pack a bag with cheese, some of those lovely berries that are just now starting to come into season, and challah bread, a good sized grubby blanket, a book, a large container of bubble mix, and a bubble wand. What to do after that will come naturally. This activity works solo or shared with a friend. You could even bring the kids if you want. Whatever feels right.

oh dear Kate. I'm so sorry. I'm really and truly sorry.

I know you don't subscribe to God and Jesus, at least not in the way I do, but that's how I know everything's gonna be alright. Because He's there and here and everywhere and He's bigger and better than me. He's love that doesn't end and faithful like mad. He loves me, and you, with this complicated, elevated, mystifying love that I know is real but totally don't understand. I don't understand why he lets sucky things happen, like really sucky things, to really good people. I don't. But I trust Him. That's how I know. In it's purest form it's faith. Faith in Him to see it through to the end, see me through. Just like faith in trees and spirits and the like, for me it's faith in Jesus.

So here's to you Kate, for your journey and your pain. Here's to sisters and community.
Much love.

Writing. Which I know you do already. So things will be alright.

My condolences.

Oh, Kate.

Oh.

(I love you.)

Kate, sorry. I lost the last of my grandparents a year ago this week and it is so hard to know that wisdom and strength is gone. But the torch of our heritage lives on in our parents, in us, and our children. That is what keeps me going, just knowing that we can do our grandparents proud by being the wonderful people we are.
You will be fine and someday you'll 'see' each other again, I'm sure of it.

years ago I used to sit on the steps of the second bank in Philly and watch a pair of hawks circling about. It stuck with me, the watching, the plaintive calls from one to the other. There must be a redtail nest somewhere near/behind my house this year for many days a week when I'm out in the cold waiting for the bus stop the male is soaring to and fro. Back when I was pregnant w/ her and had some early worries and unknowns I happened to see a hawk (on the way to Trader Joe's of all places) and from that moment on I just had this sense that everything would be okay. Six years later and that fitful worry is now a fearless hooligan pirate tracker who could eat you under the table in a hot dog eating contest. Every time since that is the first thought that comes to mind when I see a redtail. Am totally rambling, but yes, hawks. Around here they come to me in fall and spring whether or not I need them to. The cycles that repeat just fold me in somehow into that sense that I need to do nothing more than I'm doing and everything will keep chugging along.

love to you. much love.

I wish I knew. I lost 2 grandparents this summer and it still hurts. A lot.

But the other day my three year old said this to me:
"I'm going to die off, mama. But don't be sad. I'll turn into a flower or a bird and make you happy again." So maybe our grandparents are flowers or birds or something. I don't believe in reincarnation, but coming from the mouth of an innocent preschooler it seems to make so much more sense.

Hang in there. What will not make you feel better is that I was parent- and grandparent-less just before I turned 20. What made me feel like everything was going to be ok after my mom died (the last death) was that I was able to cook the things she made for us, those things that didn't have recipes. Things that I wasn't taught to cook but somehow managed to pick up during countless hours watching her in the kitchen. Cinnamon rolls. Chicken fried steak. What pulls me out of slumps these days? Sunshine and working in the garden. My dog. My husband. And hearing something come out of my mouth that I swore came out of my mother's.

Hey Kate,
Thinking of you and your family.

As for what makes me know things will be ok? Ritual--even if it is new, temporary rituals I create to see me through--like buying flowers every few days that remind me of the person who is gone. I also take solace in the object the person loved and left behind.

This time I'm going to say I'm sorry, and I really, really am. And how do you know that it will be ok? I don't know. I guess you see that your children still smile, and if children are smiling, something in the world must still be good.

Long bubble baths, chocolate, silly made up names, rolling down a hill for no reason at all, my singer-songwriter channel on pandora, and predictable fluffy fantasy novels.

Watching my 13 year old daughter and remembering just what it feels like, even though our young womanhoods are so different. And knowing that my Gram saw that in me, too. And that maybe, with luck and love and should she choose, the kid will get to see it in another little Polish girl. And it will all be ok.

Seed catalogs that arrive in the cold barrens of January. A well-worn (okay, ratty) blanket soft with years of use and smelling like home. And the mug the tattoo parlor gave me when I had my nose pierced - I lost the piercing but the mug sits in my cupboard, reminding me that my potential to do the unexpected isn't quite gone. Also, knowing the tattoo parlor hands out coffee mugs tickles my fancy.

Thinking of you, Kate, and wishing you comfort.

the crack of dawn (not that I see it THAT often :-))...
the crashing of waves...
the crunching of potato chips...
laughter...
tears...
long hugs...

Sending you wishes for all of these - and more...
My condolences to you & your family.
xox

Light a big ass fire. Outside. And watch the embers go to the heavens. And take pictures. And burn whatever you can. Except your ass.

It'll be perfect.

Come here, sit with me. We'll drink overpriced beer and I'll knit you a silly hat and tell you how my mother makes herself known in the oddest corners of my life and how sometimes, it sparkles when Ros turns too fast.

Peace my darling friend. I'm thinking of you all.

so sorry kate.

sit with your mom and reminisce...laugh and cry together...

just the words -- and you know them -- everything is gonna be all right -- nothing is permanent -- the soul is eternal

love and peace and blessings to you

i'm 40 now. my last grandparent--a grandma died when i was in my early 20's. i was closer to her than my own mother. years later, i asked to wear her earrings (a special old italy pair) in my wedding, but my aunt and mom forgot to bring them. more years passed, and the earrings were sweetly given to me as a christmas gift in a shirtbox--still the most startling, amazing, and love filled gift i've ever received. i was afraid to wear them at first--over 100 years old, unique--and then a sweet woman at the jeweler convinced me that their love was important, and so i wear them almost daily. recently, my daughters were fussing over who gets them "when mom dies", and the story was told, the woman remembered, the love was shared, and i treasured them even more knowing another layer of family history would someday be added. i hope to be as loved by my someday grandchildren as i loved the woman who wore them before me. and i know everything will be alright.

my waking up - alive in this realm - every morning.
that helps me know.
a long afternoon, in the grass, under a shade tree, with a breeze. that too.
regina spektor.
swinging (ahem- in a swing, not in bars).
a great orgasm.
the endorphins after the tears.

love you so much.

i watched the last of my grandparents take her final breath 10 years ago. she was midwifed into transformation, the great Beyond. your was too. last breath is first breath.
but her last breath was also the passing of a legacy, a generation, and very bittersweet. i miss her.
but then i see kaia, and how she looks more like my grandmother than ME, and i remember. and that's when i know, truly, everythings gonna be alright.

Since I can't sleep and I'm struggling a bit here, some random inanity that blows me away.

Our gram lived just a month and two days past her 93rd birthday. We are blessed that she lived so long. Hopeful that our lives can be so rich and full. I can say quite honestly I too am trying to grasp losing our fourth and final grandparent.

In another way of crunching the time itself, that's just a hair over 34,000 unique days that she enjoyed and experienced as much as she could.

During those many, many days she met my Grampa Box, she had my Mom and my Uncle, she watched them grow up, get married, start families. Then she repeated the process with us and our 5 cousins. Then she watched us get married and start our own families.

That time was (I suppose) spent doing some random things- watching snow fall, waiting for rain to end, basking in the sunshine... and some purposeful things. Tonight, I like random better.

She loved us all immensely, and we all love her back still and forever.

Music. Music helps me know it's going to be alright. I can never quite tell what song it's going to be, but when I find it it clicks.

Some days I'm not sure anything tells me that it's going to all be alright. I just have to trust that one foot in front of the other will get me through it.

The sun has come out and there are crocuses in flower. My last grandparent died nearly 10 years ago. She never saw any of her great grandchildren and none of them can speak her language. Her recipes are amongst their favourite foods and soon we will celebrate her new year as spring arrives so the arrival of the sun and flowers brings us all full circle with her.

It does get easier.
Grandparents first to go:(
Some friends too...
Losing my dad was the hardest.

The wondering...where ARE you? what just happened?
Trying to figure it out.
Missing,missing,longing,wanting, remembering...

Remembering..

I don't really know what to tell you. It does get better. Take care of your family, look around breathe and know that it is just one panel of that horrible and beautiful tapestry that is life.

This too shall pass:)

Crocuses. And snowdrops. And the promise of daffodils.

I'm thinking of you, looking forward to seeing you this summer. I'm quite sure that all of your grandparents were extraordinary people, after all, they helped raise a pretty great person.

Love to you and your whole family, loss is hard, but time somehow dulls the jagged edges. Take time in the coming weeks to remember all of the good things and all of the ways they made your life richer.

Bittersweet.

Oh, Kate, I'm so sorry. I have one grandparent left; she's 97 and is on her way out any day now.

What helps me feel better? Poetry. Mugs of tea. Writing. Believing that somehow, even if it's just in our imaginations, we all go on and on in this big, weird circle.

The fact of knowing that whenever someone tells my life story, even 10000 years from now, the role my grandmother had will always be uniquely "hers" and no one else's - indelable, unchangeable - and that time, death and everything else earthly, try as they might, can NEVER change that, not even put the merest dent in it. It's a fact that "is" and always will be. She will always be connected to me in that way. I love the infiniteness of that.
Smile when you think of her Kate, she's just on the other side of the mirror, of that invisible threshold that only "physically" separates you both.
Love to you.

Singing birds. Stupid birds always make me feel better.

I'm sorry. Shrug. You could try "Tintern Abbey" -- Wordsworth's not my bag, mostly, but that poem is like a slow inhale and a long shuddery exhale.