I understand what you’re saying, Richard. I recently lost my sister. She was younger than me but led a very different and difficult life. But her childhood was the closest to mine. I am the last surviving member of my family of origin. And all their losses were experienced in very different ways. Grief surfaces and retreats repeatedly. It’s interesting you talk about melancholy. I recently experienced it. I was surprised as I can’t remember the last time I felt that way.
Jeff, I am so sorry for your loss. You have been dealt a difficult hand. Thank you so much for taking the time to share your thoughts and your experience. I deeply appreciate it.
Hi Hilary, thank you for your kind words. I am so very sorry for your loss. I didn't really talk about it in this post, but from what I understand, suicides are different than any other type of loss—more challenging and more difficult to put into perspective. I hope you are able to find the support you need. Thank you again, it's always so nice to hear from you.
Oh Rich, if I could only write as eloquently as you have done here in this piece, and writing is my artistic expression, so I’m always struggling to figure out how to express. Melancholy I’ve carried with me all my life —feels like an existential struggle, and if Epigenetics is a true science, then I’m sure that plays a role in what I’ve always remembered to be a friend and foe in my character. I had a son who died recently, and I really understand the difference between melancholy and grief which you try to discern. In many ways, the grief added to the melancholy has brought a bitterness that I can’t seem to shake, although i’m not sure I really want to let go of it. When I stop trying, since I’ve never been a victim of the toxic positivity that pervades people I know, I find I can live a little more peacefully, with a baseline of sadness. Since we’re the same age, I imagine you have found solitude as I have to be important in your life and yet connection with people is so necessary. My work as a midwife has helped me stay involved with other people and writing helps me dig a little deeper into myself, which is not always pretty and I am always having to face that. Anyway, I just couldn’t read this beautiful piece without reaching out to you.
Oh Steph, I am so sorry to hear about the loss of your son. I cannot even imagine. Thank you for your very kind words and for so thoughtfully and sensitively sharing your own experience and emotional journey. I could relate to pretty much everything you wrote, and your words truly helped me feel a little less alone, providing a welcome salve. So thank you. And your work as a midwife—wow, so interesting and complicated from an emotional and spiritual perspective. It’s a great pleasure to hear from you. Please keep in touch.
Beautiful as always, Richard. It's really quite amazing how much startlingly gorgeous work pours out of you; cold comfort when you're feeling miserable, but a wonderful byproduct for sure.
I understand what you’re saying, Richard. I recently lost my sister. She was younger than me but led a very different and difficult life. But her childhood was the closest to mine. I am the last surviving member of my family of origin. And all their losses were experienced in very different ways. Grief surfaces and retreats repeatedly. It’s interesting you talk about melancholy. I recently experienced it. I was surprised as I can’t remember the last time I felt that way.
Jeff, I am so sorry for your loss. You have been dealt a difficult hand. Thank you so much for taking the time to share your thoughts and your experience. I deeply appreciate it.
Hi Richard .. thank you for your writing your words and your work are both beautiful ..I too lost a loved one to suicide not so long ago..💔🌈❤️
Hi Hilary, thank you for your kind words. I am so very sorry for your loss. I didn't really talk about it in this post, but from what I understand, suicides are different than any other type of loss—more challenging and more difficult to put into perspective. I hope you are able to find the support you need. Thank you again, it's always so nice to hear from you.
Oh Rich, if I could only write as eloquently as you have done here in this piece, and writing is my artistic expression, so I’m always struggling to figure out how to express. Melancholy I’ve carried with me all my life —feels like an existential struggle, and if Epigenetics is a true science, then I’m sure that plays a role in what I’ve always remembered to be a friend and foe in my character. I had a son who died recently, and I really understand the difference between melancholy and grief which you try to discern. In many ways, the grief added to the melancholy has brought a bitterness that I can’t seem to shake, although i’m not sure I really want to let go of it. When I stop trying, since I’ve never been a victim of the toxic positivity that pervades people I know, I find I can live a little more peacefully, with a baseline of sadness. Since we’re the same age, I imagine you have found solitude as I have to be important in your life and yet connection with people is so necessary. My work as a midwife has helped me stay involved with other people and writing helps me dig a little deeper into myself, which is not always pretty and I am always having to face that. Anyway, I just couldn’t read this beautiful piece without reaching out to you.
Oh Steph, I am so sorry to hear about the loss of your son. I cannot even imagine. Thank you for your very kind words and for so thoughtfully and sensitively sharing your own experience and emotional journey. I could relate to pretty much everything you wrote, and your words truly helped me feel a little less alone, providing a welcome salve. So thank you. And your work as a midwife—wow, so interesting and complicated from an emotional and spiritual perspective. It’s a great pleasure to hear from you. Please keep in touch.
Beautiful as always, Richard. It's really quite amazing how much startlingly gorgeous work pours out of you; cold comfort when you're feeling miserable, but a wonderful byproduct for sure.