A fine piece of writing - delicate and touching. Grief, like childbirth is personal yet universal - you wonderfully convey something to affect us all. Thank you.
A multi layered peice and for me pogniant as I had a very disfuntional relationship with my mother, who it turned out had been living a double life. She ripped the family apart rather than being a home maker. Thank you for giving me a glimpse at a loving mother/ daughter relationship
Beautiful writing that so resonates with me. Well done for being able to write it. I t is ten years since my mums near fatal stroke which upturned our lives completely and five years since she died. I’ve tried many times to write about it but have never been able to. You’re writing has encouraged me to try again. Thank you.
Thank you Margi. It’s only in the last year or so that I’ve felt ready or able to write about Mum’s death - I think I needed the distance (both in time and in space) from it. Go gently with yourself x
I feel this Ellen, I feel this. And yes, this time it is the tear in the curtains! You strike a beautiful balance here with your own very personal experience of grief and with the universality of it. As a daughter who visits the home my father still lives in where my parents once lived together, i feel you. The jewelled tea canister still in the same place...yes.
Ellen, this is incredibly beautiful and incredibly moving. I can so relate to many of the feelings and realities you’re experiencing in this changed and somewhat unwelcome world we live in after losing our mothers. I love the way you’ve weaved different timelines together to help us glimpse the worlds you’ve lived through. Thank you for sharing, I can’t wait to read more of your work.
Thanks Ingrid, I’m really pleased you liked it. I always feel like I’m existing in several timelines at the same time when I visit my dad - such a strange feeling.
This is so lovely. So perfectly evocative of how torn we humans are between the past and the present, and the future in our children and the new homes we establish. And what I love about this piece is that it leaves you with that sense that this is just the temporal complexity in which we live - there’s no resolving it.
Such a beautifully written piece. I recognise so much of what you’ve written in myself. My mum passed away a couple of years ago and the house is as she left it. The same out of date spices in the kitchen cupboard and her nail varnish and emery boards on the sideboard. When I visit my dad, my mum feels so close, yet so very absent. The decline of the house is so evident to me, but I it’s not for me to fix. That realisation has only just come to me this week. Your words have echoed this and that’s a comfort. Thank you x
Yes it is. It seems that when we are vulnerable we see with different eyes and are able to more readily connect with others who have accepted their own I have even felt physical pain in my heart during my grieving
The heart remembers and speaks a different language than words. Thank you Ellen for your perspective as you remember your Mum. A beautiful tribute to who she was and still is as your broken heart remembers. Your story helped me recall how broken I was when my mother died and then to see how my Dad struggled with her loss as he grieved.
Feel lucky to have stumbled across this. Beautiful stuff xx
Thanks Laura! Really pleased you like it, I’ve been so moved by your own writing about death and parents and homes.
A fine piece of writing - delicate and touching. Grief, like childbirth is personal yet universal - you wonderfully convey something to affect us all. Thank you.
Thank you Jean. So interesting that you draw a parallel between grief and childbirth, I’ve been mulling on the same thing recently.
Beautifully written Ellen...so evocative. Strikes a potent chord in me. And I love the photos too.
Thank you Rosie!
A multi layered peice and for me pogniant as I had a very disfuntional relationship with my mother, who it turned out had been living a double life. She ripped the family apart rather than being a home maker. Thank you for giving me a glimpse at a loving mother/ daughter relationship
Thank you Deborah, there are so many layers and tangles in parent/child relationships - I’m glad you enjoyed this glimpse into mine.
Very movingly and beautifully written, Ellen
Thank you Priyanka 🥰
Beautiful writing that so resonates with me. Well done for being able to write it. I t is ten years since my mums near fatal stroke which upturned our lives completely and five years since she died. I’ve tried many times to write about it but have never been able to. You’re writing has encouraged me to try again. Thank you.
Thank you Margi. It’s only in the last year or so that I’ve felt ready or able to write about Mum’s death - I think I needed the distance (both in time and in space) from it. Go gently with yourself x
I feel this Ellen, I feel this. And yes, this time it is the tear in the curtains! You strike a beautiful balance here with your own very personal experience of grief and with the universality of it. As a daughter who visits the home my father still lives in where my parents once lived together, i feel you. The jewelled tea canister still in the same place...yes.
beautiful beautiful writing ❤️
Thank you Jennifer!
Ellen, this is incredibly beautiful and incredibly moving. I can so relate to many of the feelings and realities you’re experiencing in this changed and somewhat unwelcome world we live in after losing our mothers. I love the way you’ve weaved different timelines together to help us glimpse the worlds you’ve lived through. Thank you for sharing, I can’t wait to read more of your work.
Thanks Ingrid, I’m really pleased you liked it. I always feel like I’m existing in several timelines at the same time when I visit my dad - such a strange feeling.
This is so lovely. So perfectly evocative of how torn we humans are between the past and the present, and the future in our children and the new homes we establish. And what I love about this piece is that it leaves you with that sense that this is just the temporal complexity in which we live - there’s no resolving it.
Those were some of the ideas I was thinking about while writing this piece so I’m really pleased they came through for you - thank you.
Such a beautifully written piece. I recognise so much of what you’ve written in myself. My mum passed away a couple of years ago and the house is as she left it. The same out of date spices in the kitchen cupboard and her nail varnish and emery boards on the sideboard. When I visit my dad, my mum feels so close, yet so very absent. The decline of the house is so evident to me, but I it’s not for me to fix. That realisation has only just come to me this week. Your words have echoed this and that’s a comfort. Thank you x
Blessing your life as I say farewell and in gratitude for your courage❤️
Yes it is. It seems that when we are vulnerable we see with different eyes and are able to more readily connect with others who have accepted their own I have even felt physical pain in my heart during my grieving
Thank you Louise, I’m glad you found some comfort here. Feeling their closeness and their absence at the same time is such a strange thing.
The heart remembers and speaks a different language than words. Thank you Ellen for your perspective as you remember your Mum. A beautiful tribute to who she was and still is as your broken heart remembers. Your story helped me recall how broken I was when my mother died and then to see how my Dad struggled with her loss as he grieved.
Thank you Mary Lee, grief is such a personal experience and at the same time such a universal one isn’t it?
What a beautiful piece of writing.
Thank you Clare