Jun 16Liked by Suleika Jaouad, Holly Huitt, Carmen Radley
Dear Carrie,
What’s it like where you are? Are you on the beach, one with black sand like at home? Your dad told me you left our shores, so I assume you’ve arrived to the next one alright? I hope the ocean is a bit warmer than the one you swam in before. Anyway, I thought I’d ask if you are still dancing, you were so good at it, you know the one we did to Katy Perry’s firework, well we danced that at your funeral but we left a space for you, I hope you saw and joined in, it felt like you did, so thanks. Mum made me go back to school but it’s not the same without you. Your desk is empty and we’re not sure whether we should let people sit there. I looked up to the sky the night you left our shores and I saw a bright star I’ve never seen before, was it you? Are you everywhere now, do you get to be on the beach and in the sky and in the bush? That’d be kind of cool because then you’d always be with me. Sometimes it feels like the ocean between our shore and yours is non-existent because I can see the light from the stars, smell the flowers on your grave and touch the same ocean you must touch on the other side. Is the gap we’re trying to communicate across non-existent? I thought I’d let you know your dog Mitty misses you but we’re making her feel really loved just like you did. It’s amazing they opened the grave at church so you could be buried in a place you felt peace, they haven’t buried anyone there since 1935 since it’s so special, did you know that? You probably did, but anyway, you’re very special. We’re making a garden for you. I’ll write again soon. Thanks for listening. Please write back if you have time. You’re really good with words. You can spell it out in the sea or sky if you like. When I go to the beach I’ll listen for your whisper in the waves.
Kate, this is beautiful. I don’t know how old you are, but I can tell by your photos that you are young. I write this to you as I lost one of my very dearest friends in life at a young age. She was killed in an automobile accident when her car was hit by an intoxicated driver. Losing loved ones at any age is hard, but when we are young and lose a close friend who is also young, it brings a reality to our lives that changes how we see things. Keep on communicating with your friend, Carrie. Hold your memories of Carrie close to your heart. After all of these years, I still communicate with Susan and as my husband often says to me, I still speak of her often. I miss her to this day. Yes, we shared the same first name and were born only one and a half hours apart. Different birthdays though; she was born late at night and I was born shortly after midnight. Sending my condolences and love to you. 🙏🏻❤️
Thank you for your generosity in sharing your story, this is why I love isolation journals, the community makes you feel so connected to others in similar positions. I’m sorry to hear of the loss of your friend at a young age too, there are never quite enough words to express the feelings, but I hear you and understand. I’m 22 years old, my friend passed away from cancer many years ago while we were still at school. I hold the memories close and the lessons close too, she taught me so much without even knowing it. She still teaches me today — maybe this is the same of your friend. I learnt young to never take any part of life for granted. Sending love to you too 💛
Kate, as I shared earlier with you, I could tell you are young by your photo, but I feel that you are an old soul. You show such wisdom in your posts on here. Your friend was so young. Again, I am so sorry. My friend Susan was 27 and I was married with our first child, my daughter Elizabeth. Yes, they are with us, always. And, yes! This community is supportive and caring, which forms connections. ❤️
Kate, what a beautiful message to your friend. I am so sorry for your loss but hope you continue to find solace in connecting to her spirit. I truly believe her energy is still present.
Jesus. This is utterly amazing. Girl, she is rolling down a hill giggling with glee reading/hearing your words. Thank you for this letter. I feel nourished.
You were truly my best friend on earth...the one woman who came through for me over and over again. I will always treasure the talks we had every day you were in the hospital and the three phone calls we had the day before you suddenly and unexpectedly died in your sleep. Those conversations were so poignant...they were the first conversations we had had in years where I felt like we had recaptured "us..." the us before alcohol took the "you" from me. Being in the hospital meant no drinks before the phone call and I had the "you" I had known for years back again. It was a precious gift. After you died, when I really understood what drove you to drinking in the first place, and when I really looked back on the whole of our forty plus year friendship, I saw what a gift you were. I remembered the time you flew to the SLC airport where I had a connecting flight on the way to my first brain surgery, just to spend twenty minutes with me, and how you flew out to me afterwards to take care of me. I saw how, out of all my friends, you took time to come visit me and share your daughter with me. I remembered your heart. I have your photo on my windowsill in my art studio...the one we took at that airport on that night I flew for that lifesaving surgery, and when I picture myself arriving at the "pearly gates," myself, I picture you flying in from wherever you reside in heaven, and we run into each other's arms again.
Linda, this is very touching. Friends like your Susan are true blessings and treasures. I respect your words when speaking to Susan in your letter about her alcoholism as you did so with honesty, tenderness, and without judgment. A rarity in our society when it comes to addiction. I think you were a blessing to Susan as well. You shared a beautiful friendship. I imagined her in the photo you keep of her in your art studio. What did she look like? 🙏🏻❤️
Susan...my Susan was a dark haired beauty (at least I thought so...and she wouldn't agree. The story of how we met is interesting too. I was 30, she was in her twenties. She headed up a women's group and had heard of me and that I had an inspiring life story to share. She called the house, and my 12-year-old son, whose voice was changing at the time, sounded exactly like me on the phone. He thought it funny to pretend to be me, so when she called, he answered. When she asked if I'd be willing to speak to her ladies group, he agreed (for me). Ack!!! I was so nervous! But I did it. She and I became fast best friends. This was around 1981. I moved away but we remained close. Many years later she married a narcissist and the pain of that and the following divorce caused her to turn to alcohol. I had been raised in an alcoholic family and talking to her when she was drinking was extremely triggering for me...and she would get pretty passive aggressive when she called me. So it was strained for a bit...but that last two weeks! It was just like old times...and I really take it as a gift. I wish I could attach the photo.
I cherish my friends and I love hearing about how other’s friendships formed. ❤️ It’s difficult when we see people we love suffering and given your experiences with alcohol in your family, that would be triggering for you. Just this morning I was talking to a dear friend on the phone who is going through a very painful divorce. Last night she texted me that sometimes she doesn’t feel like living. This morning I told her that if she EVER says something like that to me whether via text or on the phone, I will do a Wellness Check with the police on her. She received my message loud and clear. We live in different states, otherwise I would be at her door. Loving others is beautiful and painful, because love entails everything.
Yes...that was so wise of you. It's hard when friends are suffering knowing the difference between being there and enabling...which isn't good for us or them!
This is such a poignant letter, Linda. I am glad you and Susan had that opportunity to connect and the certainty you will fly into each other's arms again one day.
Happy Father’s Day! I see the American and Irish celebrations overlap today. What are you up to today? Maybe chats with your brothers and sisters or with my wonderful father in law and Pam’s dad too. One thing is for sure, you are not sitting idle, always moving with purpose and bringing your radiant and quiet charm to those you meet. You were such a guiding example of how to live life well and also in service to the community - whether to your beloved rugby club or the Chamber of Commerce. Dad, I want you to know you were a giant amongst men. You taught us so much, an adventurer at heart - those very early trips to Spain and France, all 7 of us packed in to the three seater Peugeot, navigating our way thru new adventures day after day. You imparted such a legacy to us, giving us a wide berth to go explore, chasing opportunity and teaching us that the sky is the limit. And always so kind and non judgemental and loving - unconditional. We truly won the dad lottery. Love you much. Eavan
Eavan, we too had a Peugeot and your description of being "packed in" and "Navigating our way thru new adventures day after day" felt so familiar and it is was a comfort to me today to read your piece. Thank you.
Ah yes, that good old car. Suitcases stuffed in back and probably no room for dad to see traffic behind us while driving on other side of the road on continent and then who had to sit in the middle for all those miles. I saw your lovely tribute. Were ye a military family, by chance? I ask, because my husband and I have lived in Germany and Kansas
Oh yes we were! Dad was career Army, and Mom the quintessential Officer's wife and we three sisters, the proud Army Brats. Generally, it was my little sister who had to sit in the middle-ha/ha Yep, suitcases packed, passports at the ready...hello fellow military family person!
Hah! My hubby got out after 9 years so we only knew the life for 7 years together but he is an army historian now and so we have moved around a lot, including to the US Army War college last year. He graduated the same week as our kid graduated college and he also turned 60 that week. After so many years away from that life, I am in awe of those families who give so much by way of sacrifice. And ps I was not a good officer’s wife! #too wild!
Please help Dad as he transitions from this life where he’s lost so much of what he loved — his vitality, his sight, his career, and most of all, you.
We kids are trying to help and are gathering by his side. We’ve tried to fill his days with whatever joys he would allow — Jack Daniels and friendships and reading his emails to him and keeping him safe, but we can’t take away whatever difficulties his end of life journey is bringing him. I’m grateful for the good days he’s had since losing you.
I miss you and now I’ll miss him too. Please don’t let his death be too difficult for him. Help us kids and your grandkids find comfort so we can be there for support.
My stomach hurts. I always had a sensitive tummy. Send me comfort. Help me relax into the moment. I cry to summon your comforting presence; maybe now, for this moment, I can put my hand on my heart and feel you.
“You never have to look for me, for I am with you forever.”
I hope you and Dad will find great happiness together on the other side. He will appear young again, and have his sight back, and best of all have you back.
I want to hear him say “I wish I had know I’d be with your Mom again like this. I wouldn’t have been so afraid.”
Of all the glorious trips you’ve taken together may this be the best one yet — everlasting.
Please help me when I cry. (I don’t want to wake up puffy 🥹)
A few years ago I wrote myself a letter from my dad on the anniversary of his death. In the letter he told me everything I wish he had said when he was still alive. Today I wrote a letter to him telling him what has happened since he died and telling him some of realizations I have had about him and me and our relationship. Both experiences were cathartic.
I know what that feels like. I was frequently learning things the hard way in my dad's last couple of years as he battled an illness. My understanding of what he was going through was hard, because he was kind of a closed book. I had to be clever to pull things out of him. But you're never as clever as you want to be. If only I knew that trick six months ago or a year ago.
I received a book, "Letters to My Son in Heaven" after my son died. It was so helpful in my journey through grief. It felt like I was talking to him and he wasn't gone.
My dearest Tanner,
I love you. I miss you. Such quick wit. Oh how you could make me laugh. You were my joy. I pray that you have that new heavenly body you told me about when you were only five years old. Such an old soul. How can such a young boy have such insight? You were dealt a heavy burden. Such a rare illness. Yet, you handled it with such grace and courage. Sometimes I felt like you were my teacher in this life. I pray that in heaven you are feeling the ocean breeze on your face. Oh how you loved the beach. It has helped me to heal. I walk and walk and walk. Talking to you. Crying. Healing. Healing that will take a lifetime. Thank you for coming to me and telling me you are okay. It has helped me so much. I love you, I love you, I love you....Mommy
Traci, what a beautiful message to your son. I am so sorry for your loss... as I mentioned to Terri I have always thought losing a child must be the greatest loss a parent can endure. I hope you continue to find comfort in your memories and feel his presence around you.
Thank you Barbarita. I believe it is the hardest loss you can endure. Tanner told me about a week before he died that he had no regrets. That he enjoyed his life. Good friends. And was happy. That was a blessing that he gave to me. To hear that was a gift.
He was 33. His life expectancy when first diagnosed was only 10-12. Then it went to 27. I view it as he lived longer than I ever expected. And I'm so thankful for that.
What a blessing. I lost my brother when he was 26 and my sister when she was 29. My son is 30 now and I am grateful for every day with him as I understand how fragile life can be.
Dad, I feel you wherever I am. The grief is still so impaling that some days, I wonder if I'll be able to breathe. But, I do. Of course I do. I'm your daughter and my work here on Earth needs me, life needs me and you would expect me to carry on. Hey, I saw Laura yesterday. She is doing a great job as executor of your estate. We walked around the house, labeling items with the places where we had lived when you and Mom acquired them. It was kind of funny...one word sentences- "Nebraska, Kansas, Germany" and the list went on. I sometimes worry that I am disappointing you. I may have to move. I'm sorry, I'm just not happy here and haven't been for some time. I have tried gutting it out but quite frankly, it's disemboweling me in the process. The House finches are back at our feeders. We have some new cardinals too. Yes, I still feed the squirrels. Yes, I know they eat a lot. Yes, I know they make squirrel proof feeders and you know I'll never buy one. I miss you and I'm trying really, really hard to live in what so many people have called, my "New Normal." Say hi to Mom for me. Send me a sign if you can, so I don't feel so alone . Mare
Mary, this is beautiful and your loss is so recent. I believe in signs, so continue to watch for one from your parents. My maternal grandma came to me twice within a relatively short time spam in my early 30’s. Sending you love and hugs. ❤️
Mary, this was beautiful and I know your Dad is there for you. If you keep your heart open he will find a way to speak to you. I know what it is like to be without both your parents and I am wishing you peace & solace.
Barbarita, thank you. Oh, that is such good advice, to keep my heart open. I fear I have closed it, protecting it, layer upon layer of emotional insulation.
I am writing to both of you, kindred spirits both in this world and beyond. I imagine you two sitting together at a heavenly bar, being served by heavenly apparitions who busily swirl about in the ether, as you two chat away and watch over all of us. Dad, as you were transitioning from this world to the other side, all of us girls were gathered 'round you, your daughters and granddaughters. We formed a circle of deep love around you, and kept watch over you for days. Anjelica, when your Poppi passed, I remember holding you on the couch all day, wrapping my arms around you as you wept and wept, feeling like you had just lost your best friend. I will never forget how you felt in my arms as a young adult, my first born daughter, soft, warm and vulnerable as I wiped away your tears. I am grateful, Dad, that you passed when you did so that you could be there in the heavenly realms to welcome your granddaughter only two years later. We always marveled at how much you two are alike, how personality traits can be passed down the same as physical attributes. Both of you could be critical and curmudgeonly, and at the same time so charismatic and deeply generous of spirit and heart. You both had a wealth of friendships here on this earthly plane. I deeply miss both of you and your physical presence, and I am grateful I can feel both of you so strongly near me that I actually have out loud conversations with you from time to time. Thank you for answering me back, your voices loud and clear in my mind and heart. This is my first written letter to you and I will write more! It will be a joy to reminisce together again.
Terri, this is beautiful and I am so sorry for your loss. I have lost many family members but I have always thought there is no greater loss than losing your child. I hope their memories continue to bring you comfort.
Happy Father’s Day in heaven. I hope you, Mother, Maxine and your group of friends have found each other and are enjoying Saturday nights once more. I haven’t seen you since junior high school, and I have so many questions. When we were sorting the house for the estate sale, I found all your military records. You did not win just one Bronze Star, as you modestly told us. You won six. You took part in five battles across the Mediterranean, from Tunisia and Egypt to Sicily, up the length of Italy, and they also sent you over to help liberate southern France. It’s a basic question, but: what was it like to be in a bomber over some of the world’s most beautiful places, which tourists now flock to? Did you bomb Monte Cassino and did you know it was full of art treasures instead of Nazis? I know you never wanted to talk about this because we were too young, but I have documents and letters from the RAF base “Somewhere in England” where you trained, and all your photos, and I wish I could interview you and pull it all together. But please know you are remembered and missed, like all the other dads.
This is so beautiful. As an avid letter writer I feel such a depth of identity with this post. It made me weep missing my dad. I am going to write him today. He was a life long gardener and artist. I can picture him sitting at his easel doing what he loves. ….”Dad we’ve had so much rain this past month. My wheelbarrow is too full to tip and empty. My garden is rich with an entire palette of green. …”
“Damn the skeptics. Crush the fences. Transcend the static, whatever the interferences, to enable us to carry on the teamwork. The oneness. I don’t need to understand it to embrace it. To live by it. To profit from it. There are no rules. No barriers. No tracks in the snow on this one.”-John Binkley /. Thank you for this! Can’t wait to write this week! I’m super excited about your art opening to, Susu. Let’s keep going! Woof! To the Pack! Jon too! May your moments of delight transcend the funky days and on the funky days, make art! Love ya. 💛💫🐾✍️🌿🌷
Omi, thank you for coming to me in a dream after the concerning blood test, and before the PETscan. We stood there in the kitchen with our arms on each other’s shoulders, our eyes connected and so happy to be together in the transcendent dimension. I hear your words, “You will be okay,” and I am scared.
Alice, you died 4 years before I was born, and mom loved you so much she named me after you. I have always felt close to you and have a few of your belongings now. The evening I took my first dose of the new medicine (which will stop those cancer cells for a few years – that’s my plan!) I put a new white candle in your lovely purple glass candle holder, and said a prayer and read a poem and cried and took my medicine.
I feel you both across the mystery of soul space.
And I do not want to join you anytime soon.
I have not finished living this wild and precious life.
Oh, Alice, this is just lovely. So honest and raw. Our grandmothers and great, they held us, if not in their arms, then in their dreams. And now they are with you, sustaining you, I pray. I wish you many precious and wild days!
Dearest Amy, you were the most loyal and caring friend I ever had! COVID got you right in the beginning and God Bless your brother in law, he was not a person who knew how to be a bearer of very sad news,
So I was gobsmacked when I heard your brother in law’s voice on the phone say “Amy is dead” and then hang up. I know he was terrified but it sucked! Amy your art work is in every room in my apartment and I feel your spirit constantly with me and protecting me. Our friendship wasn’t easy, but we seemed to navigate the difficult times. I loved when we walked crosstown in Beautiful Manhattan and sang show tunes at the top of our lungs. The last time we were together is when we saw “Hadestown” together and you were so happy being and experiencing that show. You are brilliant, creative, and an all around amazing human that I was fortunate to call “my friend “ in this lifetime. People write on social media all the time “ enjoy your loved ones now because you never know how much time you have.” Amy you and I didn’t need that reminder. We got that message years ago! Miss you. Sherri
I've written letters to my daughter since the day after she passed away, on December 5th, 2021. I have a stack of spiral journals that contain them. For the first two years I wrote them daily, and now I write weekly, or whenever I want to talk to her. Everything John wrote in his letter makes so much sense to me and feels quite good to read, actually. It feels like he's validating a theory we both share. It feels magical. Thank you for sharing this with us! 💜
Suleika, I have been reading (and enjoying) your Isolation Journals for some time but I must say this one was incredibly moving. I have lost many of my family members (some too young) and the beauty and rawness of the story of John and the letters to his wife was overwhelmingly poignant. Also, some of the letters from your readers below are equally as touching. Thank you for sharing this and allowing us to connect with those who have left us on this plane.
Dear Carrie,
What’s it like where you are? Are you on the beach, one with black sand like at home? Your dad told me you left our shores, so I assume you’ve arrived to the next one alright? I hope the ocean is a bit warmer than the one you swam in before. Anyway, I thought I’d ask if you are still dancing, you were so good at it, you know the one we did to Katy Perry’s firework, well we danced that at your funeral but we left a space for you, I hope you saw and joined in, it felt like you did, so thanks. Mum made me go back to school but it’s not the same without you. Your desk is empty and we’re not sure whether we should let people sit there. I looked up to the sky the night you left our shores and I saw a bright star I’ve never seen before, was it you? Are you everywhere now, do you get to be on the beach and in the sky and in the bush? That’d be kind of cool because then you’d always be with me. Sometimes it feels like the ocean between our shore and yours is non-existent because I can see the light from the stars, smell the flowers on your grave and touch the same ocean you must touch on the other side. Is the gap we’re trying to communicate across non-existent? I thought I’d let you know your dog Mitty misses you but we’re making her feel really loved just like you did. It’s amazing they opened the grave at church so you could be buried in a place you felt peace, they haven’t buried anyone there since 1935 since it’s so special, did you know that? You probably did, but anyway, you’re very special. We’re making a garden for you. I’ll write again soon. Thanks for listening. Please write back if you have time. You’re really good with words. You can spell it out in the sea or sky if you like. When I go to the beach I’ll listen for your whisper in the waves.
Lots of love from your friend, Kate xx
Kate, this is beautiful. I don’t know how old you are, but I can tell by your photos that you are young. I write this to you as I lost one of my very dearest friends in life at a young age. She was killed in an automobile accident when her car was hit by an intoxicated driver. Losing loved ones at any age is hard, but when we are young and lose a close friend who is also young, it brings a reality to our lives that changes how we see things. Keep on communicating with your friend, Carrie. Hold your memories of Carrie close to your heart. After all of these years, I still communicate with Susan and as my husband often says to me, I still speak of her often. I miss her to this day. Yes, we shared the same first name and were born only one and a half hours apart. Different birthdays though; she was born late at night and I was born shortly after midnight. Sending my condolences and love to you. 🙏🏻❤️
Thank you for your generosity in sharing your story, this is why I love isolation journals, the community makes you feel so connected to others in similar positions. I’m sorry to hear of the loss of your friend at a young age too, there are never quite enough words to express the feelings, but I hear you and understand. I’m 22 years old, my friend passed away from cancer many years ago while we were still at school. I hold the memories close and the lessons close too, she taught me so much without even knowing it. She still teaches me today — maybe this is the same of your friend. I learnt young to never take any part of life for granted. Sending love to you too 💛
Kate, as I shared earlier with you, I could tell you are young by your photo, but I feel that you are an old soul. You show such wisdom in your posts on here. Your friend was so young. Again, I am so sorry. My friend Susan was 27 and I was married with our first child, my daughter Elizabeth. Yes, they are with us, always. And, yes! This community is supportive and caring, which forms connections. ❤️
Thank you again for your very kind words Susan, aroha nui (much love) to you 💛
Beautiful…
Thank you Susan xx
So beautiful Kate. I'm so sorry for your loss.
Thank you Traci, very kind xx
This is a wonderful letter. 💙
Thank you so much Evelyn ❤️
Kate, what a beautiful message to your friend. I am so sorry for your loss but hope you continue to find solace in connecting to her spirit. I truly believe her energy is still present.
Thank you Barbarita, her energy is still here, I see it everyday xx
This is just wonderful. I hope it felt good to write
It did Eavan, I have written or spoken to her like that in a while, it felt good to re-start my conversations with her xx
This is so beautiful, Kate. Thank you.
Thank you Jacqueline 💛
This is beautiful xx
Thank you Rebecca xx
Jesus. This is utterly amazing. Girl, she is rolling down a hill giggling with glee reading/hearing your words. Thank you for this letter. I feel nourished.
Pam, thank you for your kind words, I very much hope she is rolling down a lovely grassy hill smiling! 😊
What love Carrie is surrounded by. Thank you, Kate, for reminding me of precious young ones who departed earlyx 🤍🤍
Thank you for your kind words Karen, aroha nui 💛
🤍🤍🤗
So beautiful, Kate. I believe your Carrie read every word and she will write back.
Thank you Amy, I’m sure she will xx
Dear Mommy,
I never knew you very well, don't worry, you hold me still.
Love,
Mae
.
Dear Susan,
You were truly my best friend on earth...the one woman who came through for me over and over again. I will always treasure the talks we had every day you were in the hospital and the three phone calls we had the day before you suddenly and unexpectedly died in your sleep. Those conversations were so poignant...they were the first conversations we had had in years where I felt like we had recaptured "us..." the us before alcohol took the "you" from me. Being in the hospital meant no drinks before the phone call and I had the "you" I had known for years back again. It was a precious gift. After you died, when I really understood what drove you to drinking in the first place, and when I really looked back on the whole of our forty plus year friendship, I saw what a gift you were. I remembered the time you flew to the SLC airport where I had a connecting flight on the way to my first brain surgery, just to spend twenty minutes with me, and how you flew out to me afterwards to take care of me. I saw how, out of all my friends, you took time to come visit me and share your daughter with me. I remembered your heart. I have your photo on my windowsill in my art studio...the one we took at that airport on that night I flew for that lifesaving surgery, and when I picture myself arriving at the "pearly gates," myself, I picture you flying in from wherever you reside in heaven, and we run into each other's arms again.
I remember your heart. ❤️
Linda, this is very touching. Friends like your Susan are true blessings and treasures. I respect your words when speaking to Susan in your letter about her alcoholism as you did so with honesty, tenderness, and without judgment. A rarity in our society when it comes to addiction. I think you were a blessing to Susan as well. You shared a beautiful friendship. I imagined her in the photo you keep of her in your art studio. What did she look like? 🙏🏻❤️
Susan...my Susan was a dark haired beauty (at least I thought so...and she wouldn't agree. The story of how we met is interesting too. I was 30, she was in her twenties. She headed up a women's group and had heard of me and that I had an inspiring life story to share. She called the house, and my 12-year-old son, whose voice was changing at the time, sounded exactly like me on the phone. He thought it funny to pretend to be me, so when she called, he answered. When she asked if I'd be willing to speak to her ladies group, he agreed (for me). Ack!!! I was so nervous! But I did it. She and I became fast best friends. This was around 1981. I moved away but we remained close. Many years later she married a narcissist and the pain of that and the following divorce caused her to turn to alcohol. I had been raised in an alcoholic family and talking to her when she was drinking was extremely triggering for me...and she would get pretty passive aggressive when she called me. So it was strained for a bit...but that last two weeks! It was just like old times...and I really take it as a gift. I wish I could attach the photo.
God rest her soul. And glad you had those two weeks at the end together
Thank you!
I cherish my friends and I love hearing about how other’s friendships formed. ❤️ It’s difficult when we see people we love suffering and given your experiences with alcohol in your family, that would be triggering for you. Just this morning I was talking to a dear friend on the phone who is going through a very painful divorce. Last night she texted me that sometimes she doesn’t feel like living. This morning I told her that if she EVER says something like that to me whether via text or on the phone, I will do a Wellness Check with the police on her. She received my message loud and clear. We live in different states, otherwise I would be at her door. Loving others is beautiful and painful, because love entails everything.
Yes...that was so wise of you. It's hard when friends are suffering knowing the difference between being there and enabling...which isn't good for us or them!
This is such a poignant letter, Linda. I am glad you and Susan had that opportunity to connect and the certainty you will fly into each other's arms again one day.
Dear Dad,
Happy Father’s Day! I see the American and Irish celebrations overlap today. What are you up to today? Maybe chats with your brothers and sisters or with my wonderful father in law and Pam’s dad too. One thing is for sure, you are not sitting idle, always moving with purpose and bringing your radiant and quiet charm to those you meet. You were such a guiding example of how to live life well and also in service to the community - whether to your beloved rugby club or the Chamber of Commerce. Dad, I want you to know you were a giant amongst men. You taught us so much, an adventurer at heart - those very early trips to Spain and France, all 7 of us packed in to the three seater Peugeot, navigating our way thru new adventures day after day. You imparted such a legacy to us, giving us a wide berth to go explore, chasing opportunity and teaching us that the sky is the limit. And always so kind and non judgemental and loving - unconditional. We truly won the dad lottery. Love you much. Eavan
Eavan, we too had a Peugeot and your description of being "packed in" and "Navigating our way thru new adventures day after day" felt so familiar and it is was a comfort to me today to read your piece. Thank you.
Ah yes, that good old car. Suitcases stuffed in back and probably no room for dad to see traffic behind us while driving on other side of the road on continent and then who had to sit in the middle for all those miles. I saw your lovely tribute. Were ye a military family, by chance? I ask, because my husband and I have lived in Germany and Kansas
Oh yes we were! Dad was career Army, and Mom the quintessential Officer's wife and we three sisters, the proud Army Brats. Generally, it was my little sister who had to sit in the middle-ha/ha Yep, suitcases packed, passports at the ready...hello fellow military family person!
Hah! My hubby got out after 9 years so we only knew the life for 7 years together but he is an army historian now and so we have moved around a lot, including to the US Army War college last year. He graduated the same week as our kid graduated college and he also turned 60 that week. After so many years away from that life, I am in awe of those families who give so much by way of sacrifice. And ps I was not a good officer’s wife! #too wild!
Too wild, eh. That is so great. Would love to hear about that! Army War College in Carlisle? My dad too...a long time ago.
I see we are both mums to 23 year olds❤️
This is beautiful Eavan, how special that he gave you ‘a wide berth to go explore’, that is a lovely gift 💛
Dear Mom,
Please help Dad as he transitions from this life where he’s lost so much of what he loved — his vitality, his sight, his career, and most of all, you.
We kids are trying to help and are gathering by his side. We’ve tried to fill his days with whatever joys he would allow — Jack Daniels and friendships and reading his emails to him and keeping him safe, but we can’t take away whatever difficulties his end of life journey is bringing him. I’m grateful for the good days he’s had since losing you.
I miss you and now I’ll miss him too. Please don’t let his death be too difficult for him. Help us kids and your grandkids find comfort so we can be there for support.
My stomach hurts. I always had a sensitive tummy. Send me comfort. Help me relax into the moment. I cry to summon your comforting presence; maybe now, for this moment, I can put my hand on my heart and feel you.
“You never have to look for me, for I am with you forever.”
I hope you and Dad will find great happiness together on the other side. He will appear young again, and have his sight back, and best of all have you back.
I want to hear him say “I wish I had know I’d be with your Mom again like this. I wouldn’t have been so afraid.”
Of all the glorious trips you’ve taken together may this be the best one yet — everlasting.
Please help me when I cry. (I don’t want to wake up puffy 🥹)
Love you
"Of all the glorious trips you’ve taken together may this be the best one yet" ❤️
A few years ago I wrote myself a letter from my dad on the anniversary of his death. In the letter he told me everything I wish he had said when he was still alive. Today I wrote a letter to him telling him what has happened since he died and telling him some of realizations I have had about him and me and our relationship. Both experiences were cathartic.
I know what that feels like. I was frequently learning things the hard way in my dad's last couple of years as he battled an illness. My understanding of what he was going through was hard, because he was kind of a closed book. I had to be clever to pull things out of him. But you're never as clever as you want to be. If only I knew that trick six months ago or a year ago.
I received a book, "Letters to My Son in Heaven" after my son died. It was so helpful in my journey through grief. It felt like I was talking to him and he wasn't gone.
My dearest Tanner,
I love you. I miss you. Such quick wit. Oh how you could make me laugh. You were my joy. I pray that you have that new heavenly body you told me about when you were only five years old. Such an old soul. How can such a young boy have such insight? You were dealt a heavy burden. Such a rare illness. Yet, you handled it with such grace and courage. Sometimes I felt like you were my teacher in this life. I pray that in heaven you are feeling the ocean breeze on your face. Oh how you loved the beach. It has helped me to heal. I walk and walk and walk. Talking to you. Crying. Healing. Healing that will take a lifetime. Thank you for coming to me and telling me you are okay. It has helped me so much. I love you, I love you, I love you....Mommy
Healing will take a lifetime. ❤️
Oh Traci- love to you!
Thank you
Traci, what a beautiful message to your son. I am so sorry for your loss... as I mentioned to Terri I have always thought losing a child must be the greatest loss a parent can endure. I hope you continue to find comfort in your memories and feel his presence around you.
Thank you Barbarita. I believe it is the hardest loss you can endure. Tanner told me about a week before he died that he had no regrets. That he enjoyed his life. Good friends. And was happy. That was a blessing that he gave to me. To hear that was a gift.
How beautiful and comforting. Do you mind if I ask how old he was when you lost him?
He was 33. His life expectancy when first diagnosed was only 10-12. Then it went to 27. I view it as he lived longer than I ever expected. And I'm so thankful for that.
What a blessing. I lost my brother when he was 26 and my sister when she was 29. My son is 30 now and I am grateful for every day with him as I understand how fragile life can be.
Oh my how hard that has had to be. I instantly think of your mother. Life is very fragile.
Traci you express such grace and love, sending a big hug, I am so sorry for your loss 💛
Thank you Kate
Sending love to you. What a beautiful letter to your son
Thank you Eavan
Dad, I feel you wherever I am. The grief is still so impaling that some days, I wonder if I'll be able to breathe. But, I do. Of course I do. I'm your daughter and my work here on Earth needs me, life needs me and you would expect me to carry on. Hey, I saw Laura yesterday. She is doing a great job as executor of your estate. We walked around the house, labeling items with the places where we had lived when you and Mom acquired them. It was kind of funny...one word sentences- "Nebraska, Kansas, Germany" and the list went on. I sometimes worry that I am disappointing you. I may have to move. I'm sorry, I'm just not happy here and haven't been for some time. I have tried gutting it out but quite frankly, it's disemboweling me in the process. The House finches are back at our feeders. We have some new cardinals too. Yes, I still feed the squirrels. Yes, I know they eat a lot. Yes, I know they make squirrel proof feeders and you know I'll never buy one. I miss you and I'm trying really, really hard to live in what so many people have called, my "New Normal." Say hi to Mom for me. Send me a sign if you can, so I don't feel so alone . Mare
Mary, this is beautiful and your loss is so recent. I believe in signs, so continue to watch for one from your parents. My maternal grandma came to me twice within a relatively short time spam in my early 30’s. Sending you love and hugs. ❤️
Susan, thank you. You are always at my back, keeping me looking forward as my heart is snapping me back. I'd love to hear more about your grandma.
Mary, you are so kind. I will share my grandma coming to me with you. It’s surreal. ❤️
I can feel how heart-crushing this time is. I love your honesty and how you write--always, but today in particular.
Leslie, thank you. Huge compliment. I appreciate your kindness.
Mary, this was beautiful and I know your Dad is there for you. If you keep your heart open he will find a way to speak to you. I know what it is like to be without both your parents and I am wishing you peace & solace.
Barbarita, thank you. Oh, that is such good advice, to keep my heart open. I fear I have closed it, protecting it, layer upon layer of emotional insulation.
Dear Dad and Anjelica,
I am writing to both of you, kindred spirits both in this world and beyond. I imagine you two sitting together at a heavenly bar, being served by heavenly apparitions who busily swirl about in the ether, as you two chat away and watch over all of us. Dad, as you were transitioning from this world to the other side, all of us girls were gathered 'round you, your daughters and granddaughters. We formed a circle of deep love around you, and kept watch over you for days. Anjelica, when your Poppi passed, I remember holding you on the couch all day, wrapping my arms around you as you wept and wept, feeling like you had just lost your best friend. I will never forget how you felt in my arms as a young adult, my first born daughter, soft, warm and vulnerable as I wiped away your tears. I am grateful, Dad, that you passed when you did so that you could be there in the heavenly realms to welcome your granddaughter only two years later. We always marveled at how much you two are alike, how personality traits can be passed down the same as physical attributes. Both of you could be critical and curmudgeonly, and at the same time so charismatic and deeply generous of spirit and heart. You both had a wealth of friendships here on this earthly plane. I deeply miss both of you and your physical presence, and I am grateful I can feel both of you so strongly near me that I actually have out loud conversations with you from time to time. Thank you for answering me back, your voices loud and clear in my mind and heart. This is my first written letter to you and I will write more! It will be a joy to reminisce together again.
With much love,
Your daughter and your mom ♡♡♡
Terri, this is beautiful and I am so sorry for your loss. I have lost many family members but I have always thought there is no greater loss than losing your child. I hope their memories continue to bring you comfort.
Terri...this is so moving. You are a joyous spirit and an inspiration.
Dear Papa,
Happy Father’s Day in heaven. I hope you, Mother, Maxine and your group of friends have found each other and are enjoying Saturday nights once more. I haven’t seen you since junior high school, and I have so many questions. When we were sorting the house for the estate sale, I found all your military records. You did not win just one Bronze Star, as you modestly told us. You won six. You took part in five battles across the Mediterranean, from Tunisia and Egypt to Sicily, up the length of Italy, and they also sent you over to help liberate southern France. It’s a basic question, but: what was it like to be in a bomber over some of the world’s most beautiful places, which tourists now flock to? Did you bomb Monte Cassino and did you know it was full of art treasures instead of Nazis? I know you never wanted to talk about this because we were too young, but I have documents and letters from the RAF base “Somewhere in England” where you trained, and all your photos, and I wish I could interview you and pull it all together. But please know you are remembered and missed, like all the other dads.
My husband is a military historian. I am going to read this to him. We visited Monte Cassino together a few years ago
I’d love to hear what he has to say.
This is so beautiful. As an avid letter writer I feel such a depth of identity with this post. It made me weep missing my dad. I am going to write him today. He was a life long gardener and artist. I can picture him sitting at his easel doing what he loves. ….”Dad we’ve had so much rain this past month. My wheelbarrow is too full to tip and empty. My garden is rich with an entire palette of green. …”
“Damn the skeptics. Crush the fences. Transcend the static, whatever the interferences, to enable us to carry on the teamwork. The oneness. I don’t need to understand it to embrace it. To live by it. To profit from it. There are no rules. No barriers. No tracks in the snow on this one.”-John Binkley /. Thank you for this! Can’t wait to write this week! I’m super excited about your art opening to, Susu. Let’s keep going! Woof! To the Pack! Jon too! May your moments of delight transcend the funky days and on the funky days, make art! Love ya. 💛💫🐾✍️🌿🌷
Dear GreatGrandma Alice and Grandma Omi,
I need your love.
Omi, thank you for coming to me in a dream after the concerning blood test, and before the PETscan. We stood there in the kitchen with our arms on each other’s shoulders, our eyes connected and so happy to be together in the transcendent dimension. I hear your words, “You will be okay,” and I am scared.
Alice, you died 4 years before I was born, and mom loved you so much she named me after you. I have always felt close to you and have a few of your belongings now. The evening I took my first dose of the new medicine (which will stop those cancer cells for a few years – that’s my plan!) I put a new white candle in your lovely purple glass candle holder, and said a prayer and read a poem and cried and took my medicine.
I feel you both across the mystery of soul space.
And I do not want to join you anytime soon.
I have not finished living this wild and precious life.
xo
Alice
Oh, Alice, this is just lovely. So honest and raw. Our grandmothers and great, they held us, if not in their arms, then in their dreams. And now they are with you, sustaining you, I pray. I wish you many precious and wild days!
I wish you the same Alice!
This is lovely.🪶
Dearest Amy, you were the most loyal and caring friend I ever had! COVID got you right in the beginning and God Bless your brother in law, he was not a person who knew how to be a bearer of very sad news,
So I was gobsmacked when I heard your brother in law’s voice on the phone say “Amy is dead” and then hang up. I know he was terrified but it sucked! Amy your art work is in every room in my apartment and I feel your spirit constantly with me and protecting me. Our friendship wasn’t easy, but we seemed to navigate the difficult times. I loved when we walked crosstown in Beautiful Manhattan and sang show tunes at the top of our lungs. The last time we were together is when we saw “Hadestown” together and you were so happy being and experiencing that show. You are brilliant, creative, and an all around amazing human that I was fortunate to call “my friend “ in this lifetime. People write on social media all the time “ enjoy your loved ones now because you never know how much time you have.” Amy you and I didn’t need that reminder. We got that message years ago! Miss you. Sherri
I've written letters to my daughter since the day after she passed away, on December 5th, 2021. I have a stack of spiral journals that contain them. For the first two years I wrote them daily, and now I write weekly, or whenever I want to talk to her. Everything John wrote in his letter makes so much sense to me and feels quite good to read, actually. It feels like he's validating a theory we both share. It feels magical. Thank you for sharing this with us! 💜
Suleika, I have been reading (and enjoying) your Isolation Journals for some time but I must say this one was incredibly moving. I have lost many of my family members (some too young) and the beauty and rawness of the story of John and the letters to his wife was overwhelmingly poignant. Also, some of the letters from your readers below are equally as touching. Thank you for sharing this and allowing us to connect with those who have left us on this plane.