Your writing is always so poignant and beautiful. I know our experiences are far from comparable, but I really feel what you mean about sadness lingering. Ever since I was diagnosed with depression, it’s been a constant battle of up and down, some days being better than others, but the hopelessness always seems to linger in the background. Like you said, I think you just learn to live with it and make space for all the emotions, the light and dark, in your life. And just taking it one day at a time because that’s all you can do.
Kayti, I had a visceral reaction to this because last 4th of July I was with my mother in the hospital. My mother died July 31, 2022. I stayed with her the last month of her life and I treasure the time I spent taking care of her. Thank you for sharing your story.
Your sister’s illness and all surrounding it. The helplessness in caretaking. Your miscarriage and all surrouunding it. “Sickness marks you.” “We become scarred.” You have presented, as a wordsmith, beautifully these experiences. It appears to me that you’ve also done what I have always done - and still do to some extent. That is “beautified” the experience with the words, when what these actually express is trauma. For you, please allow the seeing of the events as the trauma they are. Doing that will also allow you to search and to heal the broken heart more readily, and maybe - actually likely - to lessen the sadness and/or its duration.
"While her physical body has healed by western medicine standards, sickness marks you and becomes a part of your story." -- this is such an important thing to recognize, and I think it's true about all kinds of sickness and also infertility, even if it's eventually resolved. The general vibe in our culture is "it's fixed! It's over!" But that's not typically how it works, the changes linger. Thanks for this reminder.
"Your body a stranger." Never truer words spoken. As someone navigating both a new chronic illness, and infertility I deeply feel these words you wrote. I'm sorry that you are going through all of this, and I wished those words carried more weight. As always, your writing is beyond beautiful, and although the story is of heartache, Kayti you truly have a gift.
I started this earlier today, knew it was important, somehow, put it off, finished after setting my book of the night aside. Thank you. Lovely and brave to share all of this, so we’ll written. We all march on with our souls at once burdened and enlivened with the joy of our grief.
Thanks so much, Wayne. That last sentence is so beautiful. I love picturing humanity in this way, marching on with our souls both burdened and enlivened. Thank you for reading.
I’ve been putting off reading this because the title told me it was going to be heavy and I wasn’t ready to feel it all. Then tonight, after not being able to sleep for so many nights in a row I’ve lost count, I read it. It made me cry just like I knew it would. Thank you for sharing these parts of yourself.
Thank you for your vulnerability. For this tender recollection. Beautifully stated. Sending you and your family love. Holding space for all the emotions that leave an imprint as you move forward 🤍
Love this. I feel the heaviness of past sadness and pain linger, aching more on those anniversaries. Often, my body knows before my mind recognizes the significance of a day or week or month.
Here’s to softening and hardening, becoming embodied to our stories.
My mother had Guillian Barre many years ago, she ended up in several hospitals over the course of almost 2 years. At her lowest point she was on a ventilator and unable to communicate with us. I'm so glad your sister didn't have such a severe case. My own sister passed two years ago from a traumatic brain injury as a result of an ATV crash. She was a passenger and spent over a month in the hospital in a coma. She never woke up. Her husband decided to put her in hospice after a brain scan showed no activity. I watched my baby sister die over the course of a week due to the fact that she was not receiving any fluids or food. The title of your letter is apropos, sadness does in fact linger. For a long time. I hope you can see the light and find things that make you smile, I'm still struggling.
I'm so sorry to hear about all of this. None of it is fair and there are no words that can soothe after these kinds of losses--everything is just empty. I know we don't know each other, but I'm thinking of you and your story. I hope a sliver of light makes its way in for you soon.
Thank you for sharing your story with us. I am grateful for discovering your Substack recently. I am sorry that you experienced so much sadness, and I admire your courage to reflect on these moments. I pray that your reflections continue to help you process.
Your writing is always so poignant and beautiful. I know our experiences are far from comparable, but I really feel what you mean about sadness lingering. Ever since I was diagnosed with depression, it’s been a constant battle of up and down, some days being better than others, but the hopelessness always seems to linger in the background. Like you said, I think you just learn to live with it and make space for all the emotions, the light and dark, in your life. And just taking it one day at a time because that’s all you can do.
Thank you for sharing, Fairley. Sending you so much love as you learn to hold space for all the emotions and take steps forward. xo
Kayti, I had a visceral reaction to this because last 4th of July I was with my mother in the hospital. My mother died July 31, 2022. I stayed with her the last month of her life and I treasure the time I spent taking care of her. Thank you for sharing your story.
Sending you love Stefanie. I can't imagine all the things this month brings up for you. I'll be thinking about you in the coming weeks xo
Your sister’s illness and all surrounding it. The helplessness in caretaking. Your miscarriage and all surrouunding it. “Sickness marks you.” “We become scarred.” You have presented, as a wordsmith, beautifully these experiences. It appears to me that you’ve also done what I have always done - and still do to some extent. That is “beautified” the experience with the words, when what these actually express is trauma. For you, please allow the seeing of the events as the trauma they are. Doing that will also allow you to search and to heal the broken heart more readily, and maybe - actually likely - to lessen the sadness and/or its duration.
Thank you for your heart’s expression.
Thank you for your thoughtful comment. It’s given me a lot to consider about the ways we process our traumas. I appreciate your words. 💛
Loving kindness being sent to you 🤍
Thank you for letting us in on your story. Sending you love and softness as you integrate the pieces of last summer.
"While her physical body has healed by western medicine standards, sickness marks you and becomes a part of your story." -- this is such an important thing to recognize, and I think it's true about all kinds of sickness and also infertility, even if it's eventually resolved. The general vibe in our culture is "it's fixed! It's over!" But that's not typically how it works, the changes linger. Thanks for this reminder.
Ugh, yes. This is so true. The changes linger. Thank you for reading, Rae!
"Your body a stranger." Never truer words spoken. As someone navigating both a new chronic illness, and infertility I deeply feel these words you wrote. I'm sorry that you are going through all of this, and I wished those words carried more weight. As always, your writing is beyond beautiful, and although the story is of heartache, Kayti you truly have a gift.
So good to hear from you, Ali. I'm sorry for all you're having to navigate as well. Sending you love - your kind words mean more than you know. xo
I started this earlier today, knew it was important, somehow, put it off, finished after setting my book of the night aside. Thank you. Lovely and brave to share all of this, so we’ll written. We all march on with our souls at once burdened and enlivened with the joy of our grief.
Thanks so much, Wayne. That last sentence is so beautiful. I love picturing humanity in this way, marching on with our souls both burdened and enlivened. Thank you for reading.
I’ve been putting off reading this because the title told me it was going to be heavy and I wasn’t ready to feel it all. Then tonight, after not being able to sleep for so many nights in a row I’ve lost count, I read it. It made me cry just like I knew it would. Thank you for sharing these parts of yourself.
❤️❤️
Beautifully reflected as always. Your words also capture some of the sadness I’ve experienced this year. Much love as always.
Thank you Priya 💛
Thank you for your vulnerability. For this tender recollection. Beautifully stated. Sending you and your family love. Holding space for all the emotions that leave an imprint as you move forward 🤍
I am sorry for the pain that has been experienced and endured. Praying for peace and rest and what the future holds.
Thank you for sharing.
You have the gift of putting into words what is bobbing below the surface of our consciousness.
I wish you love and comfort in your journeys.
Love this. I feel the heaviness of past sadness and pain linger, aching more on those anniversaries. Often, my body knows before my mind recognizes the significance of a day or week or month.
Here’s to softening and hardening, becoming embodied to our stories.
My mother had Guillian Barre many years ago, she ended up in several hospitals over the course of almost 2 years. At her lowest point she was on a ventilator and unable to communicate with us. I'm so glad your sister didn't have such a severe case. My own sister passed two years ago from a traumatic brain injury as a result of an ATV crash. She was a passenger and spent over a month in the hospital in a coma. She never woke up. Her husband decided to put her in hospice after a brain scan showed no activity. I watched my baby sister die over the course of a week due to the fact that she was not receiving any fluids or food. The title of your letter is apropos, sadness does in fact linger. For a long time. I hope you can see the light and find things that make you smile, I'm still struggling.
I'm so sorry to hear about all of this. None of it is fair and there are no words that can soothe after these kinds of losses--everything is just empty. I know we don't know each other, but I'm thinking of you and your story. I hope a sliver of light makes its way in for you soon.
Thank you for sharing your story with us. I am grateful for discovering your Substack recently. I am sorry that you experienced so much sadness, and I admire your courage to reflect on these moments. I pray that your reflections continue to help you process.
I'm glad you're here Mariana! Thanks for reading and for your kind words xo