On the Subject of Sadness and Sweetness
Yesterday was the anniversary of the day my mom died. I hate—hate—using the word anniversary. Because those are supposed to be happy things. But there isn’t a better word, so here we are.
It’s been over a decade, and I can tell you that grief changes as the days pass. And that grief changes us, fundamentally, and yet, that change isn’t a one-and-done kind of thing. It’s an evolution. An adaptation. A being and becoming that isn’t also something you can put into words.
But I’m a poet and stubborn, so from time to time, I try. And sometimes, that goes into a poem. And sometimes, it goes into a notebook. But I suppose that’s a topic for another time.
In my opinion, kindness can make any moment better—sweetness, too. And yesterday was full of both, full of connection and belonging. It’s nice to reach out and find a waiting hand, isn’t it? To feel welcome and cared for. To feel at ease during a difficult moment. And there’s always so much going on behind the scenes, isn’t there? All kinds of aches and difficulties running in the background. I’ve always been pleasantly struck by someone who makes the time when they have no time.
For honeyed words to work on me, they have to be sincere, not hollow. And that’s one thing I got from my mother: I can spot bullshit a mile away, and I always know what’s genuine. Who’s genuine.
For a rather pocket-sized human, my mother was formidable. I remember this, even when she was no longer physically strong because of cancer. She had an inner strength that almost didn’t make sense, given several things I won’t get into. She wasn’t confident, but she could project confidence. And I picked up that trick, and I regularly use it in difficult moments. You probably won’t ever be able to spot the moments of true confidence versus the fake ones. I learned from the master.
I miss her, and I always will. But the pain no longer feels like poison. It doesn’t mean the day is easy—it’s not. It still makes me sad. But I don’t sob anymore. I try to remember the good days. The funny stories. The way she used to say my name when I was driving her up the wall. (This happened…often.)
Yesterday, too, reminded me of the importance of being vulnerable, of leaning on people, and of letting people in. I’m much better at being needed than I am at needing, but it’s something I constantly work at. And I’m glad I didn’t say stuck, that I chose to put in the work. That I can—sometimes with great effort—get over my fear.
To be seen is one of the most important things in life, but it can be terrifying. And yet, all good things often are a little bit scary, right? Taking a leap, falling love, moving, going on an adventure—every great thing has an element of oh no to it.
And that’s how you know it matters. If you’re not invested, if you don’t want it, there’s no oh no moment. There’s no ridiculous grin, either. Or the way your heart lights up like the goddamn aurora borealis—a watercolor in real life, shining.
Chase the things and the people that make you go oh no and also light you up. Nothing else really matter, lovelies. And you can quote me on that.
Bits and Bobs
Tilly and Susan Bridges are debuting their amazing short film, Long Away in LA!!! It was wonderful—heartwarming, powerful, beautiful. If you’re in LA, go see it. Tell them I sent you!
Uncanny’s Kickstarter is still taking late pledges! Do. The. Thing.
And your girl has a poetry collection coming out next year from CLASH Books! I can’t wait for y’all to read Offering to Ordinary Gods!
And I’m back on TikTok, so if you’re there, find me!
PS I did not have time to proofread this, so apologies for any typos or wonkineses. This week has been…a lot. **hissess*
Sending you love, and love to your mom's memory, Ali.