Lori, thank you for sharing your story. I’ve noticed that crises never seem to take a number and wait their turn, but rather descend on us all at once. Grief is a hard road, and often there doesn’t seem to be anything under our feet at all as we move forward. There is a road, of course, and it’s firm and real … and often it’s our community that keeps our feet firmly on it.
My mother died unexpectedly, and my father’s cancer took him 6 months later. Within the next 2 years, we lost my in-laws, two aunts, and an uncle. Our own community is less tight than it used to be, and my community of friends is scattered across three continents, but they gave so much of themselves and they shared our grief in a way that made it slightly less heavy.
I’ll never forget the old classmate, who had had many losses of his own, who reached out to me on one of the worst days and, for lack of a better phrase, held grief with me for an evening. This is another role that a strong community can play as we feel our way forward.
Thank you for introducing John to us. He sounds like a lovely man, and I’m holding everyone who cared for him in the Light today.
Jennie, thank you for such a generous and tender note.
You’re right — crises do have that way of arriving all at once, as though conspiring to test the limits of what we can hold. I’m so sorry for the losses you yourself have carried in such a short space of time. What you describe — that moment of someone simply holding grief with you — captures the essence of what community really is. It’s not about fixing or soothing so much as standing beside one another in the hardest places. I feel that here too, in both my village and this space we’ve built together.
Thank you for holding John, and all of us, in the Light. It means a great deal.
I can’t remember how I came to this particular ‘Stack, (Is that what we call these?) but your observation “care within our communities is itself a form of resistance to authoritarianism — that it strengthens the fabric that keeps us human when the wider systems around us are fraying” is spot on. Timely and motivational.
It reminds me that even if I don’t live in an attractive, close-knit, rural community, that community is possible —necessary even if we mean to maintain our humanity in this current landscape. Thank you.
I’m really glad that line resonated with you Quentin. I believe it more strongly with every passing year — especially as our institutions grow less dependable and our public life more brittle. The truth is, community doesn’t need to look like a village to matter. It can be the neighbour who keeps an eye out, the friend who checks-in, or the quiet web of people who help keep things steady when we start to fray.
This online community has come to feel very much like my own village in that way — a place of steady care and connection. I’m grateful to have you as part of it.
Lori, I cannot fathom all you have been dealing with as you give so much to us. Holding you in love and gratitude. Please take care of yourself first. We'll be here when you're ready.
Thank you, Robin — your grace and kindness means a great deal. I’m doing my best to keep things balanced and to rest when I need to. It helps to know you’ll all still be here when I find my rhythm again.
Thank you Mary. It’s been a challenging few weeks, but your words are a gentle reminder that sorrow is a season, and like all seasons, it will turn. The old Persian fable comes to mind — this too shall pass — and I am reminded that with time, there’ll be light again.
Dear Lori, with deepest sympathy to you and all your family at the loss of your dearly loved father in law, may each day and remembrance bring you peace of mind and lasting comfort.
Thank you, Renee. That’s such a kind message, and I really appreciate your thoughtfulness. We’re taking things one day at a time, and your words bring me quiet comfort.
Dear Lori, my appreciation extends to you and your personal writing space where your words teach resilience and comfort—and my hope is the fraction I've written contributes to all sending resilience and comforting words to you and your family.
Lori, when there is something on your mind that you need to say, we will be here to listen and understand. We'll keep your opera box in our email open and unoccupied, for your return.
Thank you, Georgia, and what a lovely image — an opera box waiting quietly in the wings. I’ll carry that with me. It’s a comfort to know you will be here when I’m ready to return.
Lori, thank you for sharing your story. I’ve noticed that crises never seem to take a number and wait their turn, but rather descend on us all at once. Grief is a hard road, and often there doesn’t seem to be anything under our feet at all as we move forward. There is a road, of course, and it’s firm and real … and often it’s our community that keeps our feet firmly on it.
My mother died unexpectedly, and my father’s cancer took him 6 months later. Within the next 2 years, we lost my in-laws, two aunts, and an uncle. Our own community is less tight than it used to be, and my community of friends is scattered across three continents, but they gave so much of themselves and they shared our grief in a way that made it slightly less heavy.
I’ll never forget the old classmate, who had had many losses of his own, who reached out to me on one of the worst days and, for lack of a better phrase, held grief with me for an evening. This is another role that a strong community can play as we feel our way forward.
Thank you for introducing John to us. He sounds like a lovely man, and I’m holding everyone who cared for him in the Light today.
Jennie,
Thousand Islands, Ontario
Jennie, thank you for such a generous and tender note.
You’re right — crises do have that way of arriving all at once, as though conspiring to test the limits of what we can hold. I’m so sorry for the losses you yourself have carried in such a short space of time. What you describe — that moment of someone simply holding grief with you — captures the essence of what community really is. It’s not about fixing or soothing so much as standing beside one another in the hardest places. I feel that here too, in both my village and this space we’ve built together.
Thank you for holding John, and all of us, in the Light. It means a great deal.
That’s very kind of you, to take time to respond, and in such a thoughtful way.
Sending strength and comfort.
I can’t remember how I came to this particular ‘Stack, (Is that what we call these?) but your observation “care within our communities is itself a form of resistance to authoritarianism — that it strengthens the fabric that keeps us human when the wider systems around us are fraying” is spot on. Timely and motivational.
It reminds me that even if I don’t live in an attractive, close-knit, rural community, that community is possible —necessary even if we mean to maintain our humanity in this current landscape. Thank you.
I’m really glad that line resonated with you Quentin. I believe it more strongly with every passing year — especially as our institutions grow less dependable and our public life more brittle. The truth is, community doesn’t need to look like a village to matter. It can be the neighbour who keeps an eye out, the friend who checks-in, or the quiet web of people who help keep things steady when we start to fray.
This online community has come to feel very much like my own village in that way — a place of steady care and connection. I’m grateful to have you as part of it.
Lori, We Are With You, Holding You, and need No reply. ♡
Thank you Jessica. I feel your support, and I’m deeply grateful. ♡
Lori, I cannot fathom all you have been dealing with as you give so much to us. Holding you in love and gratitude. Please take care of yourself first. We'll be here when you're ready.
Thank you, Robin — your grace and kindness means a great deal. I’m doing my best to keep things balanced and to rest when I need to. It helps to know you’ll all still be here when I find my rhythm again.
Your generosity of spirit is endless. I hope you can feel that coming back to you from this, your larger village.
Lori,
Yes, "live long and prosper". A lesson of acceptance (under the circumstances) that we should all try to follow and share in our own lives.
Thank you for sharing it with us, Lori.
Lori, so sorry for your loss….Take all the time you need…we’ll still be here.
Thank you, Debbie, I really appreciate that. It helps so much to know there’s space to take things slowly for a while. 🙏🏼
Lori, I’m so sorry for this season of sorrow for you.
Thank you Mary. It’s been a challenging few weeks, but your words are a gentle reminder that sorrow is a season, and like all seasons, it will turn. The old Persian fable comes to mind — this too shall pass — and I am reminded that with time, there’ll be light again.
💔💔💜💜💔💔
Thank you CJ, I feel that. Sending love right back.
Thank you, Lori! 💜
Dear Lori, with deepest sympathy to you and all your family at the loss of your dearly loved father in law, may each day and remembrance bring you peace of mind and lasting comfort.
Thank you, Renee. That’s such a kind message, and I really appreciate your thoughtfulness. We’re taking things one day at a time, and your words bring me quiet comfort.
Dear Lori, my appreciation extends to you and your personal writing space where your words teach resilience and comfort—and my hope is the fraction I've written contributes to all sending resilience and comforting words to you and your family.
That's so very kind of you dear Renee, and I'm deeply grateful. Thank you. 🙏🏼
🙏...(just saw your reply)...Take Good Care & 🤗(Hugs 2U All)
Lori, when there is something on your mind that you need to say, we will be here to listen and understand. We'll keep your opera box in our email open and unoccupied, for your return.
Thank you, Georgia, and what a lovely image — an opera box waiting quietly in the wings. I’ll carry that with me. It’s a comfort to know you will be here when I’m ready to return.
Hugs to all of you
Thank you, Lena. Gratefully received, and more sent right back to you.
My heart aches for you.💔
Thank you, dga. Your empathy and kindness mean such a lot.
Absolutely, Lori. Take your time.
That's very kind Aleithia, thank you.
❤️
I’m so sorry for your and your family’s loss. Be gentle with yourself.
Thank you so much, Sus. We’re taking things slowly and gently.