The timing of this essay couldn't be more perfect... I can deeply relate to having lost a favorite heartbeat... I lost one just a few days ago.
My 22 year old daughter and I went to visit her Grandma (my ex-husband's mom) this past weekend, as she was on life support and was not given much longer to live.
We had seen her in the ICU the previous weekend and were shocked at how quickly she had deteriorated from a strong, capable woman to one who could not stand or function on her own.
Once all of my ex-husband's family made it to town and had gathered around her bedside, the doctors removed her ventilator. She gasped for breath for a few minutes, but then the death rattle came and she was gone. She passed away at 6:02 PM this past Sunday, surrounded by love.
She was my ex-husband's mom, but she has been a staple in my life since my younger years. She was always kind and truly lived a life of unconditional love -- the exact opposite of what I grew up with. She always made sure that I knew she loved me, even years after the divorce from her son.
This is a powerful reminder to move through the grieving process in such a way that the many seeds of light and love that were planted over the years with her unconditional love can fully take root and grow in my life...
I am teary reading this comment!! I am so, so sorry for your loss. It sounds like you have many wonderful memories of your ex-husband’s mother that, when the wound is a little less fresh, will be a great comfort. She sounds like an amazing woman. Sending love 🫶🏻
Her existence was a golden thread of pure love woven into the tapestry of my life, into so many layers and years of my life that her love will forever be a part of it... 🫶
She was love in human form, which feels rare these days. I am always humbled and deeply grateful when I encounter such magical types of people like you and her! 🌟
Thank you, Elle ❤️ And I’m with you on not having to face our fears! That was one of my biggest takeaways from this experience—fear is human and saying “that’s cool, but not for me” to something that scares you is 100% okay.
I remember reading the original version of this, and thinking how raw it felt and how close you still were to your father's dying - and how it felt like the most personal piece you'd published and how the percolator and scuba imagery never left me. Well done with the polishing and with the revisiting - and adore the photo that i don't recall in the original post. Lovely, my friend, the whole piece. And i just now noticed how close the words revisit and revise are, and you did both.
This is stunning. I appreciate how you described your father's body once his life passed out of it. When my dad died, I fretted constantly about his body, alone in the ground, so far away from us. It's amazing how the vessel of life and love can become so lonely; weirdly grotesque. And the acute awareness his last breaths prompted of you in your own physicality....this is poetry in prose.
“Poetry in prose”—this is what I strive for and a compliment I’ll cherish for a long time. Such a beautiful comment to wake up to. Thank you, Isabel ❤️
Big hug, Sam. It’s haunting to watch the people we love turn into something they’re not, then that ending bit is such a powerful memory. My mom and I really struggled to focus on the man and dad we had before he lost control of his body piece by piece until he was carried around by a mechanical sling. You managed it beautifully in the end. Loved this. Kudos and hugs ❤️ PS I love scuba diving. But I have to stay completely quiet before I do it and rehearse visually over and over the steps I take to get ready and then get in the water. Even under normal circumstances, breathing underwater is serious stuff.
Thank you so much, Lolly. It can be so hard to hold onto the good memories when you’ve seen things like that happen. I find it’s gotten easier with time…I hope it has for you, too? ❤️
When I scuba dive, I think of the beautiful schools of cichlid fish in Lake Malawi. It was like swimming in a box of 64 colors of crayons. But I am just as okay with the sound of seaplane propellers, floats, and taking off from water. It was a minor miracle that something that once triggered you turned into an altogether different beautiful thing.
Maybe one day, when I hear a Blackhawk helicopter, I will think of all the good things they are used for, instead of feeling a sense of dread. We all have our things that cause that 3:00 am phone call feeling.
I can think of only one time, when, after anticipating the worst, it turned out to be the least self-aware person I ever worked with.
“Hello?” I answered, expecting the absolute worst after hearing that unmistakable international call click. I noticed it was 1:35 am. On a Sunday morning.
“Hey man, you’re really missing out. Lunch was fantastic.” He was calling from a training workshop my organization was doing in Chiang Mai, twelve time zones away from Maryland. I have no idea why he called, knowing I always told my assistant to tell him I was unavailable when he called me at work. I thought he understood why.
“Do you understand the concept of a round earth where there are different time zones and how it can be early afternoon in one place and the middle of the night in another, at the exact same time?” I responded.
“What are you saying, man? I’m hearing some hostility.” He sounded wounded.
“Not anymore,” I said as I slammed down the phone.
But for sheer zaniness, I was absorbing the profoundly exquisite Sistine Chapel ceiling when my phone vibrated. The spell was broken as I hastened out the door to answer a call that, no doubt, conveyed some life or death issue. Nope. It was a clerk at a marine supply shop in Glenn Burnie, Maryland, who called to let me know my teak parquet flooring order had arrived.
Or the time some colleagues and I were on a downtime Zambezi River late afternoon cruise above Victoria Falls watching hippos and crocodiles along the river. A colleague’s phone rang, yes, you read that correctly. A colleague's phone rang and it was her assistant asking for verbal approval for two reams of copier paper.
This is beautiful. A very dear friend of mine lost her father last year under extremely similar, grueling circumstances and your words echo some of what she has shared with me. I forwarded it on to her (with a bit of a content warning) in case it would bring her comfort. I'm so sorry about your dad.
Thank you, Tania, for commenting and forwarding this to your friend ❤️ and I’m so sorry for her loss, as well. Caring for a dying loved one can be such a difficult and isolating experience…I hope this makes her feel a little less alone.
What beautiful writing, Samantha! I never attempted to dive for fear of what you described. I published an essay today about overcoming fears, but I forgot to mention there are many fears I failed to overcome. This is one of them. Fortunately, there is snorkeling.
Oh your words. What a gift you have to share with us. I had the same experience snorkeling off. the coast of Bali decades ago. I couldn’t bear that sound (with none of your heartbreaking associations) & have never ever snorkeled again. The fish I see in Ponza through the deep clear sea are beautiful enough for me.
thank you, Gillian ❤️❤️ somehow I still find snorkeling bearable and even fun once in a while, but if the water is clear enough I’m perfectly happy to watch the fish from dry land!
Thank you for sharing this deeply personal experience. I have had my own misadventure scuba diving at Hurghada, finding the sound of my breathing very scarry. Thereafter I stuck to snorkelling. I love swimming with the fishes. You have also imparted insight into what lies ahead as I care for my father at home. Breathe in and exhale. Thank you.
How funny that we would have such a similar experience, Shari (I still like snorkeling, too!). Sending best wishes to you and your dad—caring for my dad was the hardest, yet most important thing I’ve ever done. I’ll be thinking of you. Thank you for reading and commenting ❤️
The timing of this essay couldn't be more perfect... I can deeply relate to having lost a favorite heartbeat... I lost one just a few days ago.
My 22 year old daughter and I went to visit her Grandma (my ex-husband's mom) this past weekend, as she was on life support and was not given much longer to live.
We had seen her in the ICU the previous weekend and were shocked at how quickly she had deteriorated from a strong, capable woman to one who could not stand or function on her own.
Once all of my ex-husband's family made it to town and had gathered around her bedside, the doctors removed her ventilator. She gasped for breath for a few minutes, but then the death rattle came and she was gone. She passed away at 6:02 PM this past Sunday, surrounded by love.
She was my ex-husband's mom, but she has been a staple in my life since my younger years. She was always kind and truly lived a life of unconditional love -- the exact opposite of what I grew up with. She always made sure that I knew she loved me, even years after the divorce from her son.
This is a powerful reminder to move through the grieving process in such a way that the many seeds of light and love that were planted over the years with her unconditional love can fully take root and grow in my life...
Thank you for sharing this beautiful essay!! 🙏🫶
I am teary reading this comment!! I am so, so sorry for your loss. It sounds like you have many wonderful memories of your ex-husband’s mother that, when the wound is a little less fresh, will be a great comfort. She sounds like an amazing woman. Sending love 🫶🏻
Thank you -- I appreciate you so much!
Her existence was a golden thread of pure love woven into the tapestry of my life, into so many layers and years of my life that her love will forever be a part of it... 🫶
She was love in human form, which feels rare these days. I am always humbled and deeply grateful when I encounter such magical types of people like you and her! 🌟
Why does everyone assume we have to face our fears? It’s perfectly reasonable to prefer breathing air. And to face our joys instead.
This was beautiful Sam, I’m so sorry for your loss!
Thank you, Elle ❤️ And I’m with you on not having to face our fears! That was one of my biggest takeaways from this experience—fear is human and saying “that’s cool, but not for me” to something that scares you is 100% okay.
I remember reading the original version of this, and thinking how raw it felt and how close you still were to your father's dying - and how it felt like the most personal piece you'd published and how the percolator and scuba imagery never left me. Well done with the polishing and with the revisiting - and adore the photo that i don't recall in the original post. Lovely, my friend, the whole piece. And i just now noticed how close the words revisit and revise are, and you did both.
Thank you so much my dear ❤️
How fragile we ate and how well you capture that, Samantha!
Thank you ❤️
This is stunning. I appreciate how you described your father's body once his life passed out of it. When my dad died, I fretted constantly about his body, alone in the ground, so far away from us. It's amazing how the vessel of life and love can become so lonely; weirdly grotesque. And the acute awareness his last breaths prompted of you in your own physicality....this is poetry in prose.
“Poetry in prose”—this is what I strive for and a compliment I’ll cherish for a long time. Such a beautiful comment to wake up to. Thank you, Isabel ❤️
Big hug, Sam. It’s haunting to watch the people we love turn into something they’re not, then that ending bit is such a powerful memory. My mom and I really struggled to focus on the man and dad we had before he lost control of his body piece by piece until he was carried around by a mechanical sling. You managed it beautifully in the end. Loved this. Kudos and hugs ❤️ PS I love scuba diving. But I have to stay completely quiet before I do it and rehearse visually over and over the steps I take to get ready and then get in the water. Even under normal circumstances, breathing underwater is serious stuff.
Thank you so much, Lolly. It can be so hard to hold onto the good memories when you’ve seen things like that happen. I find it’s gotten easier with time…I hope it has for you, too? ❤️
Yes, I agree that it has ❤️
When I scuba dive, I think of the beautiful schools of cichlid fish in Lake Malawi. It was like swimming in a box of 64 colors of crayons. But I am just as okay with the sound of seaplane propellers, floats, and taking off from water. It was a minor miracle that something that once triggered you turned into an altogether different beautiful thing.
Maybe one day, when I hear a Blackhawk helicopter, I will think of all the good things they are used for, instead of feeling a sense of dread. We all have our things that cause that 3:00 am phone call feeling.
“That 3:00am phone call feeling”…such a good description. Nothing good ever comes from a phone call at 3:00am.
I can think of only one time, when, after anticipating the worst, it turned out to be the least self-aware person I ever worked with.
“Hello?” I answered, expecting the absolute worst after hearing that unmistakable international call click. I noticed it was 1:35 am. On a Sunday morning.
“Hey man, you’re really missing out. Lunch was fantastic.” He was calling from a training workshop my organization was doing in Chiang Mai, twelve time zones away from Maryland. I have no idea why he called, knowing I always told my assistant to tell him I was unavailable when he called me at work. I thought he understood why.
“Do you understand the concept of a round earth where there are different time zones and how it can be early afternoon in one place and the middle of the night in another, at the exact same time?” I responded.
“What are you saying, man? I’m hearing some hostility.” He sounded wounded.
“Not anymore,” I said as I slammed down the phone.
But for sheer zaniness, I was absorbing the profoundly exquisite Sistine Chapel ceiling when my phone vibrated. The spell was broken as I hastened out the door to answer a call that, no doubt, conveyed some life or death issue. Nope. It was a clerk at a marine supply shop in Glenn Burnie, Maryland, who called to let me know my teak parquet flooring order had arrived.
Or the time some colleagues and I were on a downtime Zambezi River late afternoon cruise above Victoria Falls watching hippos and crocodiles along the river. A colleague’s phone rang, yes, you read that correctly. A colleague's phone rang and it was her assistant asking for verbal approval for two reams of copier paper.
This is beautiful. A very dear friend of mine lost her father last year under extremely similar, grueling circumstances and your words echo some of what she has shared with me. I forwarded it on to her (with a bit of a content warning) in case it would bring her comfort. I'm so sorry about your dad.
Thank you, Tania, for commenting and forwarding this to your friend ❤️ and I’m so sorry for her loss, as well. Caring for a dying loved one can be such a difficult and isolating experience…I hope this makes her feel a little less alone.
What beautiful writing, Samantha! I never attempted to dive for fear of what you described. I published an essay today about overcoming fears, but I forgot to mention there are many fears I failed to overcome. This is one of them. Fortunately, there is snorkeling.
Thank you, Claire! I read your piece about overcoming fears and loved it. And I’m with you on snorkeling, it’s a good compromise!
Oh your words. What a gift you have to share with us. I had the same experience snorkeling off. the coast of Bali decades ago. I couldn’t bear that sound (with none of your heartbreaking associations) & have never ever snorkeled again. The fish I see in Ponza through the deep clear sea are beautiful enough for me.
thank you, Gillian ❤️❤️ somehow I still find snorkeling bearable and even fun once in a while, but if the water is clear enough I’m perfectly happy to watch the fish from dry land!
This was so lovely and touching, and poignant.
Thank you so much, Daniel.
Thank you for sharing this deeply personal experience. I have had my own misadventure scuba diving at Hurghada, finding the sound of my breathing very scarry. Thereafter I stuck to snorkelling. I love swimming with the fishes. You have also imparted insight into what lies ahead as I care for my father at home. Breathe in and exhale. Thank you.
How funny that we would have such a similar experience, Shari (I still like snorkeling, too!). Sending best wishes to you and your dad—caring for my dad was the hardest, yet most important thing I’ve ever done. I’ll be thinking of you. Thank you for reading and commenting ❤️
What a beautiful, heart-moving read, Sam.
Thank you, Dana ❤️❤️❤️