These steady & true offerings—that’s what I felt reading your words. Not the urge to soothe or mend, but the deep, quiet privilege of being trusted with them. You have named what so many carry in silence: the way love & loss live side by side, the way grief threads itself through the ordinary—the scent in the air, the art on the wall, the weight of rings against skin, those who were once present & now, felt more than seen.
Writing as one still in it, still crossing, still learning the shape of this new world where presence & absence sit so close they blur, this is the soul at its core. I don’t offer comfort so much as witness. I see you here. I see the grace in the way you keep carrying what matters, even when your arms are tired. Thank you for trusting us with your heart. Keep writing if you are able. We are here.
Kim, I started a response in haste, stopped, and waited. I am still unsure of my response except to say that I am deeply and thoroughly grateful for your perceptive and very, very kind words.
Everything you write is perfect, except that you are not just a witness, your presence Provides more comfort than I can express. Being seen and heard is what is most often missed and seldom found.
I feel your vulnerability, Chris. The burden becomes unbearable at times. You are not alone, we are cheering from the comments! Sending love and peace. 🤍🤍
i love you and your words little buddy. Thank you for sharing YOUR writing!! I am sorry for the losses you have endured and feel them deeply when I read your writing here. The little faucet in my heart grew three times bigger (like the grinch); the love in which you write for these people is not unseen.
I’ve suffered a similar loss (though not nearly as close to my chest as yours) where an old acquaintance of mine died unexpectedly when we hadn’t been in contact for almost a year. I regret not reaching out to him sooner before he OD’d. It hurts. And you are heard.
"little buddy". endearing and somehow i have a Gilligan's Island scene stuck in my head. thank you for taking the time to read and to listen. being heard really helps.
this moved me deeply. the way you carry love, memory, and grief is so full of humanity. thank you for sharing this with us.. you carry it all so beautifully, even when it’s heavy 🤍✨
You’re always so generous, Chris—bringing attention to others and making us feel seen. I hope your writing helps you feel seen and comforted in this heart-wracked life. This piece reminds me of my favorite Ram Dass quote: “We’re all just walking each other home.”
ty jess. i do not know Ram, but what little i just read sounds fascinating. i also feel connections through writing (i cannot pretend to feel seen), which is very, very important, especially when the connections come with writers (like you) who blow my mind.
Chris—
These steady & true offerings—that’s what I felt reading your words. Not the urge to soothe or mend, but the deep, quiet privilege of being trusted with them. You have named what so many carry in silence: the way love & loss live side by side, the way grief threads itself through the ordinary—the scent in the air, the art on the wall, the weight of rings against skin, those who were once present & now, felt more than seen.
Writing as one still in it, still crossing, still learning the shape of this new world where presence & absence sit so close they blur, this is the soul at its core. I don’t offer comfort so much as witness. I see you here. I see the grace in the way you keep carrying what matters, even when your arms are tired. Thank you for trusting us with your heart. Keep writing if you are able. We are here.
Kim, I started a response in haste, stopped, and waited. I am still unsure of my response except to say that I am deeply and thoroughly grateful for your perceptive and very, very kind words.
Everything you write is perfect, except that you are not just a witness, your presence Provides more comfort than I can express. Being seen and heard is what is most often missed and seldom found.
I feel your vulnerability, Chris. The burden becomes unbearable at times. You are not alone, we are cheering from the comments! Sending love and peace. 🤍🤍
this is so beautiful i am crying
ty Isha. It means the world to me that you would take the time to read my piece. Truly.
i love you and your words little buddy. Thank you for sharing YOUR writing!! I am sorry for the losses you have endured and feel them deeply when I read your writing here. The little faucet in my heart grew three times bigger (like the grinch); the love in which you write for these people is not unseen.
I’ve suffered a similar loss (though not nearly as close to my chest as yours) where an old acquaintance of mine died unexpectedly when we hadn’t been in contact for almost a year. I regret not reaching out to him sooner before he OD’d. It hurts. And you are heard.
"little buddy". endearing and somehow i have a Gilligan's Island scene stuck in my head. thank you for taking the time to read and to listen. being heard really helps.
this moved me deeply. the way you carry love, memory, and grief is so full of humanity. thank you for sharing this with us.. you carry it all so beautifully, even when it’s heavy 🤍✨
I very much appreciate your kind words.
You’re always so generous, Chris—bringing attention to others and making us feel seen. I hope your writing helps you feel seen and comforted in this heart-wracked life. This piece reminds me of my favorite Ram Dass quote: “We’re all just walking each other home.”
ty jess. i do not know Ram, but what little i just read sounds fascinating. i also feel connections through writing (i cannot pretend to feel seen), which is very, very important, especially when the connections come with writers (like you) who blow my mind.
Your honesty is staggering in its truth, Chris. You are doing the work day by day, and it is a powerful thing to witness. Beautiful and true, friend.
Joyce, your kind words mean so much. I appreciate you seeing what was behind and under my words.