For some reason this feels kinda like dream-work... like how in dreams, themes rise up in so many forms for so many reasons, over and over again, with variation. For a couple moments I wondered if the waitress was your grief, all your St. Ignatius grief, your deepest-in grief---after all, "St. Ignatius" was lettered right across her heart... Then I realized that perhaps she's you, you being gentle with yourself; and that she's you right now, serving all of us generous portions of insight into your healing. Yeah, you served me reminders of my own griefs and my own healing scars, all topped with a dollop of hope---I loved the image of your sister singing in all that white, that pure, white snow.
Yeah! Slept underneath one of the concrete benches in a rainstorm in the little area there by the road north in 1972. Knew two Skins from there, Tom Plouffe and Greg (Sundancer)?.
Even though grief never really goes away, I have to agree it can wax and wane over the years. I loved "a little closer to Heaven or whatever we like to call home."
I used this is my classroom! We’ve just finished ATDoaPTI and so I shared this essay (I hope that’s ok) with my students and we chatted about grief and how we do and don’t move through it. And how it shifts and changes over time. It was kinda perfect timing!
Beautiful. Even though you didn't tell the waitress, I'm glad you told us. I imagine that tale you did tell her has some element of truth, and that’s why it came to you. Love that thought too, there's always a church by the river.
Great piece. From my point of view it did happened and is as valid as anything that "really" happened. The story gives your sister a certain immortality while allowing you, the waitress, and us the opportunity to connect with many different things--even to appreciate a line like "There's always a church by the river."
I like what Eduardo Galeano wrote in his masterpeice of short prose, The Book of Embraces: “These happenings happened at one time or another, or almost did, or never did, but their virtue is that they happen every time they are told.”
I don't even know what to say. This is beautiful and I am touched. Isn't that how grief is after a time? A tender scar and not an open wound. And your sister is still living now, in her way of living now, in her long white robe in the snow, "singling all of us a little closer to Heaven or whatever we like to call home." Pause. How can I thank you for these beautiful words?
I didn't know your sister was part of the 27 Club. Maybe she gets to hang out with Janis Joplin in the afterlife. Either way, thanks for sharing her with us in your stories.
For some reason this feels kinda like dream-work... like how in dreams, themes rise up in so many forms for so many reasons, over and over again, with variation. For a couple moments I wondered if the waitress was your grief, all your St. Ignatius grief, your deepest-in grief---after all, "St. Ignatius" was lettered right across her heart... Then I realized that perhaps she's you, you being gentle with yourself; and that she's you right now, serving all of us generous portions of insight into your healing. Yeah, you served me reminders of my own griefs and my own healing scars, all topped with a dollop of hope---I loved the image of your sister singing in all that white, that pure, white snow.
Yeah! Slept underneath one of the concrete benches in a rainstorm in the little area there by the road north in 1972. Knew two Skins from there, Tom Plouffe and Greg (Sundancer)?.
Beautiful, touching story-- yakoke
Damn... what a beautiful gut-punch of a story.
Thank you.
Even though grief never really goes away, I have to agree it can wax and wane over the years. I loved "a little closer to Heaven or whatever we like to call home."
Thank you, Steve
Cool! Because of Substack, you were able to teach a loaf of bread I'd only recently pulled out of my brain-oven. Awesome!
I used this is my classroom! We’ve just finished ATDoaPTI and so I shared this essay (I hope that’s ok) with my students and we chatted about grief and how we do and don’t move through it. And how it shifts and changes over time. It was kinda perfect timing!
Beautiful. Even though you didn't tell the waitress, I'm glad you told us. I imagine that tale you did tell her has some element of truth, and that’s why it came to you. Love that thought too, there's always a church by the river.
Thank you, Deborah.
Great piece. From my point of view it did happened and is as valid as anything that "really" happened. The story gives your sister a certain immortality while allowing you, the waitress, and us the opportunity to connect with many different things--even to appreciate a line like "There's always a church by the river."
I like what Eduardo Galeano wrote in his masterpeice of short prose, The Book of Embraces: “These happenings happened at one time or another, or almost did, or never did, but their virtue is that they happen every time they are told.”
Oh, wow,a beautiful quote. I'm writing that one down!
I don't even know what to say. This is beautiful and I am touched. Isn't that how grief is after a time? A tender scar and not an open wound. And your sister is still living now, in her way of living now, in her long white robe in the snow, "singling all of us a little closer to Heaven or whatever we like to call home." Pause. How can I thank you for these beautiful words?
You thank me by reading the story. And thank you for reading.
Today was my first story since I signed up. Sad...but well-told and honest. Just what I signed up for.
Thank yoyu, Bruce.
Thanks for this, Sherman. Even though you held back for her, I’m happy you didn’t for the rest of us.
Thank you, Justin.
A good example of how we all can sometimes use a little creative license to make our memories more palatable.
Thank you, Stanley.
I didn't know your sister was part of the 27 Club. Maybe she gets to hang out with Janis Joplin in the afterlife. Either way, thanks for sharing her with us in your stories.
Yes, the 27 Club! My sister had a little bit of guitar chops.
Such a tender and wise decision coming through that "tender scar". Thank you, Sherman.
Thank you, Marcia.
Thank you
It's such a blessing to find the beauty, the lesson, the token we can build ours and our loved ones futures with.