I read this and didn't know how to respond, what to do. Then realized that you did not need or ask us to 'do' anything. Just to sit with you. As you sit with all that swirls and asks your consideration. So I left a part of my mind to sit there, in silence, with you, with your righteously angry, David, beside your mother's resting place. And so I've been sitting here, that part of me that I asked to sit here, listening. One can hear each voice raised in your behalf, each of these readers' kind notes. You have brought together a congregation at your mother's graveside. People who see you. Feel with you. Stand with you. I wonder if she would be pleased for the visitors, each loyal to her daughter, who is loyal to her. Graves are the trickiest of intersections. They do not conform to any rules of logic, which really, makes them all the more fascinating. I could never wish you the achey parts, but I love this story and the way you have brought us all to your mother's graveside for a visit and a chance to meet like minds.
I needed to take a beat, too, in response to your words. I wanted to let the images you conjured really sink in, images I’m beyond grateful to you for putting in my head (you and images, David…there’s some serious magic at play, there)
I find myself wanting to share something with you. I hope this is ok…
My mother is not spoken about enough. She died young, she died in denial of the fact that she was dying, and her death caused significant chaos within my family. The devastation it caused was largely met with the classic British fail-safe response of just-not-talking-about-it, about her. I learned young how thick with tension the room would get when she was mentioned, I didn’t know then that it was thick with unmet, unacknowledged grief. All this to say, she is not spoken about enough. I don’t know an awful lot about her, not in the ways I wish I did.
So, to have the image of us; of you & I, and David, and all the people kind enough to join us here in this strange and sacred corner of the internet, forming a congregation, for her…I dare say she would be most pleased for the visitors. In fact I feel in my bones that she is.
I don’t really have adequate words to thank you for the gift of your comment, but please know that I am forever grateful for it, and for what it opened up in me.
Jul 10, 2023·edited Jul 10, 2023Liked by Chloe Hope
Chloe,
You wrote: "I hope this is ok…" I assure you, it is more than ok. It is a gift. Thank you.
You do big work, immense, sharing glimpses of such achey passages and trying to make sense of things so core to who you are, inviting us into your church. And in doing that you not only introduce us to your mum, but to the shape of the hole her leaving carved into you and the work of filling that space with something so deliberately kind. Death and birds, indeed.
Chloe, this is such a beautiful, raw reflection. Thank you for sharing it with us. The distinct lack of pastoral wisdom or care from those supposed to be the pastors of a parish is jarring. As you ask, where is the Reverend’s reverence?
We in the West have such a sanitized relationship with death, provided with as many anodyne channels as possible to remove ourselves from the deterioration and discomfort leading to and resulting from Death, and in the process also, I think, the possibility of witnessing life’s autumn harvest and sunset masterpiece. Winter and darkness follow, and for fear of them we treat our elderly - and Dead - contemptuously.
Nathaniel, I deeply appreciate your words. Jarring is the perfect word, actually. I noticed today how my body feels as though it’s been physically jarred.
Sanitized and anodyne; more perfect words. Sunset masterpiece, yes, 100 times. It is my prayer that more people would experience it, relate to it, as such.
I do believe that we’re already suffering the consequences, culturally, of our contemptuous treatment of the elderly, and of the Dead—a resounding lack of Elders just one of many examples…
Thank you for being part of this conversation, your voice is needed in it.
I have such dark thoughts about this category of phenomenon that I think it unhelpful to share them; I feel special horror when I see how we devise forms through which evils flow without any evil intention, these metastatic bureaucracies… I struggle not to loathe those involved, who are often themselves quite innocent.
About the rest of this, though: thank you for writing it. I find myself so averse to talking about these things, and purely from cowardice I think. Anyway: this is a lovely post.
All thoughts, dark or otherwise, are always welcome--but I hear you.
It's an interesting one; 'benign evil' that's just allowed to play out, largely unquestioned. And I appreciate you bringing the word 'evil' into the conversation. I think it's one I wasn't brave enough to include.
I'm trying this thing where I write about whatever is most alive in my body when I sit down to write. We'll see how long it lasts, things can get chaotic in here. Thank you for your words, Mills
Jul 10, 2023·edited Jul 10, 2023Liked by Chloe Hope
Oh Chloe, this is awful. I'm very sorry (and also very sorry for your loss of your mother all those years ago, and at such a young age).
Whilst it may well have been carelessness on the gardener's part, it's a complete lack of empathy and respect from the reverend. They should know better and they should practice their reverence better.
"my exposure to religion consisted only of mandatory church attendance at school; its mandatory nature ensuring my rejection of it." Ditto, along with a number of other factors that have kept me as atheist.
That your own church is reverence, attention, and love, is a beautiful thing.
Thanks so much, Nathan. I definitely expected more from her, but I do need to look at my assumption, maybe I expected too much? I don’t know. I’m still trying to work it out, I suppose…
Funny how being forced somewhere without being given the option can have that effect, huh? And I appreciate your words. If anything, this situation has crystallised what it is that is sacred to me, so I’m grateful for that, at least.
Oh Chloe! When I read this I just wanted to sweep you up in my arms and hold you...
I understand and also see the connection between the plants and your mom, BEAUTIFUL living beings that were taken suddenly and too soon. And the slate you laid down to offer protection, was something you never really were able to provide for your mom. Having to replant the plants and to be made to remove that protective slate, leads me to believe that the Dead belong to us, in whichever form we receive them (my dad comes to me as a bird), and what remains of their physical form, just as their life, is beyond our control.
My love, thank you for this. Thank you for what you said about the slate. I hadn’t realized that that was exactly why it being there felt so important (until I read your words and burst into floods of tears, which were needed, so again, thank you).
I love that your Dad comes to you as a bird 🪶 and yes, I think our Dead are indeed ours, should we claim them as such. And I claim my mother. And look forward to defending her as best I can, now.
I love you. Thank you. (It’s not my birthday but I can totally see how I made it sound like it was! Thank you anyway, darling!)
When I was a kid and one of my beloved dogs would pass, my parents would buy a little tree. We'd plant it in the yard and hang their collar on it. It's interesting to me, reflecting back, how much comfort that always brought me. My little family has yet to land in our forever home, but when we get there, I'll plant a tree, or a rose bush, or perhaps some lavender, for my mother, and perhaps a few more for others that have passed. I think it's such a lovely way to remember someone. I'm so sorry that happened to you, I can only imagine how heart wrenching it must have been to discover the damage. How disappointing the response from the Reverend must have felt. Empathy isn't all that difficult, it's disheartening how few people exercise it.
That’s a beautiful way for your parents to honour your dogs. I think it’s important for children to see acts like those, especially as they go through the mind-bending process of beginning to consider mortality, and its consequences.
Planting trees and flowers for our Dead seems like such a natural response. I’m realising now how much the rose and herbs on my mothers grave had come to feel like extensions of her—I suppose one could argue, given biology and the passage of time, that they were.
And, I agree, empathy isn’t all that difficult. I’m trying to practice it myself, to imagine what it is that’s preventing the Reverends—and to offer her some grace, in case there’s some hardship she’s experiencing that’s clouding her ability. I’m failing, frequently, but I’m trying.
And yes! I think the plants being an extension of your mother is right on, literally and figuratively. My grandparents are at rest in a place called The Better Place Forest. Their ashes were mixed with the soil at the foot of a gorgeous redwood tree, and they quite literally are part of it now. So interesting that one way or another, those we love and have lost will always be part of this world, and therefore, always with us.
I'm a fairly consistent failure at empathy, too, despite how easy it seems like it should be, especially when I'm thinking about how I want others to treat ME, ha! Harder to turn it around and use it on people who have wronged you. Especially when it seems so painfully obvious, like a beautiful thriving lavender plant that should so clearly be left alone! I've had some conflicts recently, and have been wracking my brain for how I could possibly be responsible, and I think often it comes down to the fact that each of us live in our own context, and sometimes it is so far and so separate from another person's context that it may as well be an alternate reality. And sometimes those realities clash and it's so hard to reconcile them. I think it is perfectly healthy to allow yourself to feel anything and everything that this experience has brought up. I find my emotions almost always have something important to teach me. And I think it's also good to tell the Reverend exactly how you feel...perhaps (by that I mean absolutely) there is something very important for her to learn, too. I'm just sorry that her lesson had to come at such a high cost to you. I bet you that rosemary will be so beautiful, though 💚
Thank you, Hannah. I so appreciate your reflections. If you don't mind I would love to share with you something that Richard Rohr teaches; I need to print it out and just have it hanging in every room. I so, so want 'the grace pattern' to be my default, anyway:
The preferred ego pattern is:
sin ----> punishment ----> repentance ----> transformation
The grace pattern is:
sin ----> unconditional love ----> transformation ----> repentance
I feel like this is a little of what we're speaking to. It's so difficult, but such a worthy practice. Maybe this is one of the many teachings available to me in this situation, it's an opportunity to try to practice the grace pattern (and who better to practice it with than someone who 'should' be practicing it themselves!)
And, thank you for sharing about your grandparents - The Better Place Forest, what a name! How beautiful to know they're part of a Redwood, now.
Goodness, I absolutely need to print that off and hang it in every room, too! The Grace Pattern. How would the world look if we all adopted the grace pattern? Thank you, I love this 💚
Oh Chloe, this is so potent---I feel as if I have heard a sister's lament. Your words are wide open, your questions deep, and as I read on, I sensed the beautiful parallel of lavander and rose growing beside your mother's stone. I imagined the love you held for her as you planted them, how they reassured you with blooms and scent as you visited her over the long years, there, where grief and peace joined together. I teared up as you spoke of the shock of finding them mowed down---oh how that scene must've cut deep, made your mom's death hurt deep, again...
Rules and behaviors that ignore the spirit are darknesses I detest. Your beloved's anger seemed holy.
And ohhh, I love the birds, too...
Late afternoon on the day my mom died, a small flock of Evening Grosbeaks flew in and settled on the deck near the window by her bed----we hadn't seen them in the yard for years. I still keep that scene in my heart...
Toni, bless you, thank you. That was indeed what you heard, and I thank you for hearing it as such. It was a strange body blow that seemed to hit, incrementally, over time. And Your words validate my profound confusion, at the act and the response; they were ignorant of the spirit.
And yes, my beloveds anger was indeed Holy. Thank you.
I was speaking with my therapist about it, telling her that I kept trying to drop into my heart around the situation, but I couldn’t, as every time I tried I just felt anger. She kindly reminded me that anger, too, can come from, and belong in, the heart.
I’m so appreciative of your sharing how the Evening Grosbeaks showed up for your mother (I’m so appreciative that it prompted me to google Evening Grosbeaks, too, they’re stunning! We don’t have those fellows, here, I’d not seen one before).
It amazes me how often Birds seem to come and offer comfort, or even acknowledgement of a momentous time. There’s so much we don’t, so much we can’t, know. But I know I’m happy you have that image in your heart.
Thank you for sharing this piece. It is beautiful and touching and heartfelt.
It’s also infuriating the way the church and the reverend handled your situation.
I related to your bumpy relationship with a higher power. Religion was pushed on me in school, and so I resisted. Then I went full scientific materialist for a while. And then the trajectory of my life took another turn and things like philosophy made my relationship with a higher power much more nuanced.
And I must say, there were so many well-written and poignant lines in this piece. Truly a lovely read.
Michael, thanks so much for taking the time to read, and for your kind words. I’m personally, in hindsight, a big fan of the bumpy road to a higher power. I used to be super envious of the people who just had it forced on them & accepted it, it seemed like such an easier route…but that could never have been my path. I went to rehab in my early twenties and, of course, was exposed to the 12 Steps. Well, in case you’re not familiar, Step 2 is ‘We came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity’ and Step 3 is ‘Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him’ - so I was in all sorts of trouble! It took another decade for me to discover what I felt God was (and I still flinch a little when using that word, the Divine is easier, I suppose), and it was under the guidance of various Mystics, kindly lighting the path across the centuries…
Thank you for sharing your experience. I’m also happy to have had a bumpy road to a higher power. I feel that by rejecting it and not just accepting what I was told - when it did come into my life through my own struggles I was finally able to see it in a new light. I didn’t go through the 12 step program but I also got sober before/during the time in which I became more open to the idea of a higher power.
And yes I totally agree the language around the whole thing makes it hard to word, every term seems to come with its own baggage.
I’m so sorry that happened. Hugs!!! The reverend is human and not perfect, however, it feels that the only response should’ve been, “I’m so sorry, please, let’s schedule a time right now for you to come see me so that we can make sure this doesn’t happen again.” I’m sorry that’s not the response that was given.
It’s okay to write your feelings and thoughts in the moment-because sometimes that’s all there is to give. You gave a beautiful, honest, and respectful perspective, which you didn’t have to do, but you did, and it speaks to the human you are💜
Thanks, lovely. I appreciate the reminder of the Reverends humanity, I do need to keep that in mind. And I agree entirely with you in regards to what her response should have been, and intend to communicate exactly that to her in-person.
And yes, this was all there was, all I had in me this weekend, it’s felt like there’s been little space in my head or body for much else. Thank you for validating that 💗 Hugs to you
I am meditating on your post, Chloe. I listened to God is a DJ. I will echo David Perry's comment that we have all come together to support you in your grief and shock - a virtual service in your mother's memory. This could be a moment of power, and we can hope, greater compassion.
The pastor there seems to have misplaced her reverence, which is a great pity for her and her congregation. It's part of the reason more and more of us are finding our way to the divine on our own. 💜💜💜
My dear, Troy. Oh thank you, thank you for listening to God is a DJ, I can't tell you the size of the grin that spread across my face when I saw that you had. That whole first verse means so much to me. I knew Maxi, his birthday date was my mothers deathday date (different years, of course) and his relationship to his own spirituality was a great inspiration to me.
David's comment did me very well to read. A reframing of the situation, of this little post, of this entire Substack endeavour, really. I agree, this could be a moment of power. I actually feel as though the comment section alone has turned it into that, already.
And yes, thankfully there are many and varied routes to the divine. As always, I so appreciate your being here✨💜🪶
It is frustrating for sure! I mean, they are making you abide by their rules, when they have been negligent in following the rules regarding the taking care of your family's space. Is there any paperwork detailing the relationship and service agreement that was made with the church when the space was purchased / received? I'm sure some good money was paid for it (?), and perhaps they need more than unpaid volunteers to follow through on their commitments! They should at least replace the plants. Ugh. Institutions are just that. Institutions. That includes the Church. ANY church of ANY denomination or religious belief is just that - an institution run by people who are indeed flawed. Also, Episcopal churches are very hierarchical in nature so there is always an archdiocese or some governing body that complaints could be raised to if the reverend is unable to accommodate you.
Thank you, Freddy. I think what you’ve said regarding institutions is what I’m coming to realise. It reminds me of being in my teens and it suddenly hitting me that the people running the country were in no way different from anyone else, just adults with all the same psychological issues as all the other adults; only difference being that they had an inordinate amount of power.
I suppose it took me so long with the Church as I assumed there’d be a level of spiritual maturity that would engender a natural kindness.
Seems a bit naive, now. We’ll see where we get in person…wish us luck!
Maybe some would say naive; others might say you are "hopeful." That's the essence of the good stuff, the real stuff, so don't lose that if you can help it! :) Hope it goes well for you all when you get there. I would focus on your experience of being sad and upset that those things that you valued so much were no longer there - focus on your experience of the loss and connecting it to feeling the loss all over again. Maybe (and hopefully) there is a pastoral side of the reverend that will shine through this time. It's a good day to have a good day. Wishing you luck!
Bless you, Freddy. I so appreciate your kindness, and positivity. You’re right, I need to take some time to feel it all, and to keep an open mind. It is indeed a good day to have a good day :) Thank you, again
Thank you so much. I did get to the furious stage, eventually. I’m just looping on what could possibly have been going through the mind of the person who did it, as they did it. And then that reply just compounded my disbelief…
Still, I’m grateful that it’s led to some contemplation around what is most sacred to me. Thank you for reading 🪶
I read this and didn't know how to respond, what to do. Then realized that you did not need or ask us to 'do' anything. Just to sit with you. As you sit with all that swirls and asks your consideration. So I left a part of my mind to sit there, in silence, with you, with your righteously angry, David, beside your mother's resting place. And so I've been sitting here, that part of me that I asked to sit here, listening. One can hear each voice raised in your behalf, each of these readers' kind notes. You have brought together a congregation at your mother's graveside. People who see you. Feel with you. Stand with you. I wonder if she would be pleased for the visitors, each loyal to her daughter, who is loyal to her. Graves are the trickiest of intersections. They do not conform to any rules of logic, which really, makes them all the more fascinating. I could never wish you the achey parts, but I love this story and the way you have brought us all to your mother's graveside for a visit and a chance to meet like minds.
I needed to take a beat, too, in response to your words. I wanted to let the images you conjured really sink in, images I’m beyond grateful to you for putting in my head (you and images, David…there’s some serious magic at play, there)
I find myself wanting to share something with you. I hope this is ok…
My mother is not spoken about enough. She died young, she died in denial of the fact that she was dying, and her death caused significant chaos within my family. The devastation it caused was largely met with the classic British fail-safe response of just-not-talking-about-it, about her. I learned young how thick with tension the room would get when she was mentioned, I didn’t know then that it was thick with unmet, unacknowledged grief. All this to say, she is not spoken about enough. I don’t know an awful lot about her, not in the ways I wish I did.
So, to have the image of us; of you & I, and David, and all the people kind enough to join us here in this strange and sacred corner of the internet, forming a congregation, for her…I dare say she would be most pleased for the visitors. In fact I feel in my bones that she is.
I don’t really have adequate words to thank you for the gift of your comment, but please know that I am forever grateful for it, and for what it opened up in me.
Chloe,
You wrote: "I hope this is ok…" I assure you, it is more than ok. It is a gift. Thank you.
You do big work, immense, sharing glimpses of such achey passages and trying to make sense of things so core to who you are, inviting us into your church. And in doing that you not only introduce us to your mum, but to the shape of the hole her leaving carved into you and the work of filling that space with something so deliberately kind. Death and birds, indeed.
Thank you.
Beautifully said, David.
Chloe, this is such a beautiful, raw reflection. Thank you for sharing it with us. The distinct lack of pastoral wisdom or care from those supposed to be the pastors of a parish is jarring. As you ask, where is the Reverend’s reverence?
We in the West have such a sanitized relationship with death, provided with as many anodyne channels as possible to remove ourselves from the deterioration and discomfort leading to and resulting from Death, and in the process also, I think, the possibility of witnessing life’s autumn harvest and sunset masterpiece. Winter and darkness follow, and for fear of them we treat our elderly - and Dead - contemptuously.
I think you have your finger on something.
Nathaniel, I deeply appreciate your words. Jarring is the perfect word, actually. I noticed today how my body feels as though it’s been physically jarred.
Sanitized and anodyne; more perfect words. Sunset masterpiece, yes, 100 times. It is my prayer that more people would experience it, relate to it, as such.
I do believe that we’re already suffering the consequences, culturally, of our contemptuous treatment of the elderly, and of the Dead—a resounding lack of Elders just one of many examples…
Thank you for being part of this conversation, your voice is needed in it.
I have such dark thoughts about this category of phenomenon that I think it unhelpful to share them; I feel special horror when I see how we devise forms through which evils flow without any evil intention, these metastatic bureaucracies… I struggle not to loathe those involved, who are often themselves quite innocent.
About the rest of this, though: thank you for writing it. I find myself so averse to talking about these things, and purely from cowardice I think. Anyway: this is a lovely post.
All thoughts, dark or otherwise, are always welcome--but I hear you.
It's an interesting one; 'benign evil' that's just allowed to play out, largely unquestioned. And I appreciate you bringing the word 'evil' into the conversation. I think it's one I wasn't brave enough to include.
I'm trying this thing where I write about whatever is most alive in my body when I sit down to write. We'll see how long it lasts, things can get chaotic in here. Thank you for your words, Mills
💚
Thank you for this.
Oh Chloe, this is awful. I'm very sorry (and also very sorry for your loss of your mother all those years ago, and at such a young age).
Whilst it may well have been carelessness on the gardener's part, it's a complete lack of empathy and respect from the reverend. They should know better and they should practice their reverence better.
"my exposure to religion consisted only of mandatory church attendance at school; its mandatory nature ensuring my rejection of it." Ditto, along with a number of other factors that have kept me as atheist.
That your own church is reverence, attention, and love, is a beautiful thing.
Thanks so much, Nathan. I definitely expected more from her, but I do need to look at my assumption, maybe I expected too much? I don’t know. I’m still trying to work it out, I suppose…
Funny how being forced somewhere without being given the option can have that effect, huh? And I appreciate your words. If anything, this situation has crystallised what it is that is sacred to me, so I’m grateful for that, at least.
Oh Chloe! When I read this I just wanted to sweep you up in my arms and hold you...
I understand and also see the connection between the plants and your mom, BEAUTIFUL living beings that were taken suddenly and too soon. And the slate you laid down to offer protection, was something you never really were able to provide for your mom. Having to replant the plants and to be made to remove that protective slate, leads me to believe that the Dead belong to us, in whichever form we receive them (my dad comes to me as a bird), and what remains of their physical form, just as their life, is beyond our control.
Sending so much love! And birthday wishes 💕
My love, thank you for this. Thank you for what you said about the slate. I hadn’t realized that that was exactly why it being there felt so important (until I read your words and burst into floods of tears, which were needed, so again, thank you).
I love that your Dad comes to you as a bird 🪶 and yes, I think our Dead are indeed ours, should we claim them as such. And I claim my mother. And look forward to defending her as best I can, now.
I love you. Thank you. (It’s not my birthday but I can totally see how I made it sound like it was! Thank you anyway, darling!)
When I was a kid and one of my beloved dogs would pass, my parents would buy a little tree. We'd plant it in the yard and hang their collar on it. It's interesting to me, reflecting back, how much comfort that always brought me. My little family has yet to land in our forever home, but when we get there, I'll plant a tree, or a rose bush, or perhaps some lavender, for my mother, and perhaps a few more for others that have passed. I think it's such a lovely way to remember someone. I'm so sorry that happened to you, I can only imagine how heart wrenching it must have been to discover the damage. How disappointing the response from the Reverend must have felt. Empathy isn't all that difficult, it's disheartening how few people exercise it.
That’s a beautiful way for your parents to honour your dogs. I think it’s important for children to see acts like those, especially as they go through the mind-bending process of beginning to consider mortality, and its consequences.
Planting trees and flowers for our Dead seems like such a natural response. I’m realising now how much the rose and herbs on my mothers grave had come to feel like extensions of her—I suppose one could argue, given biology and the passage of time, that they were.
And, I agree, empathy isn’t all that difficult. I’m trying to practice it myself, to imagine what it is that’s preventing the Reverends—and to offer her some grace, in case there’s some hardship she’s experiencing that’s clouding her ability. I’m failing, frequently, but I’m trying.
And yes! I think the plants being an extension of your mother is right on, literally and figuratively. My grandparents are at rest in a place called The Better Place Forest. Their ashes were mixed with the soil at the foot of a gorgeous redwood tree, and they quite literally are part of it now. So interesting that one way or another, those we love and have lost will always be part of this world, and therefore, always with us.
I'm a fairly consistent failure at empathy, too, despite how easy it seems like it should be, especially when I'm thinking about how I want others to treat ME, ha! Harder to turn it around and use it on people who have wronged you. Especially when it seems so painfully obvious, like a beautiful thriving lavender plant that should so clearly be left alone! I've had some conflicts recently, and have been wracking my brain for how I could possibly be responsible, and I think often it comes down to the fact that each of us live in our own context, and sometimes it is so far and so separate from another person's context that it may as well be an alternate reality. And sometimes those realities clash and it's so hard to reconcile them. I think it is perfectly healthy to allow yourself to feel anything and everything that this experience has brought up. I find my emotions almost always have something important to teach me. And I think it's also good to tell the Reverend exactly how you feel...perhaps (by that I mean absolutely) there is something very important for her to learn, too. I'm just sorry that her lesson had to come at such a high cost to you. I bet you that rosemary will be so beautiful, though 💚
Thank you, Hannah. I so appreciate your reflections. If you don't mind I would love to share with you something that Richard Rohr teaches; I need to print it out and just have it hanging in every room. I so, so want 'the grace pattern' to be my default, anyway:
The preferred ego pattern is:
sin ----> punishment ----> repentance ----> transformation
The grace pattern is:
sin ----> unconditional love ----> transformation ----> repentance
I feel like this is a little of what we're speaking to. It's so difficult, but such a worthy practice. Maybe this is one of the many teachings available to me in this situation, it's an opportunity to try to practice the grace pattern (and who better to practice it with than someone who 'should' be practicing it themselves!)
And, thank you for sharing about your grandparents - The Better Place Forest, what a name! How beautiful to know they're part of a Redwood, now.
Thank you, again 💜
Goodness, I absolutely need to print that off and hang it in every room, too! The Grace Pattern. How would the world look if we all adopted the grace pattern? Thank you, I love this 💚
So happy it resonated 💗
Oh Chloe, this is so potent---I feel as if I have heard a sister's lament. Your words are wide open, your questions deep, and as I read on, I sensed the beautiful parallel of lavander and rose growing beside your mother's stone. I imagined the love you held for her as you planted them, how they reassured you with blooms and scent as you visited her over the long years, there, where grief and peace joined together. I teared up as you spoke of the shock of finding them mowed down---oh how that scene must've cut deep, made your mom's death hurt deep, again...
Rules and behaviors that ignore the spirit are darknesses I detest. Your beloved's anger seemed holy.
And ohhh, I love the birds, too...
Late afternoon on the day my mom died, a small flock of Evening Grosbeaks flew in and settled on the deck near the window by her bed----we hadn't seen them in the yard for years. I still keep that scene in my heart...
Toni, bless you, thank you. That was indeed what you heard, and I thank you for hearing it as such. It was a strange body blow that seemed to hit, incrementally, over time. And Your words validate my profound confusion, at the act and the response; they were ignorant of the spirit.
And yes, my beloveds anger was indeed Holy. Thank you.
I was speaking with my therapist about it, telling her that I kept trying to drop into my heart around the situation, but I couldn’t, as every time I tried I just felt anger. She kindly reminded me that anger, too, can come from, and belong in, the heart.
I’m so appreciative of your sharing how the Evening Grosbeaks showed up for your mother (I’m so appreciative that it prompted me to google Evening Grosbeaks, too, they’re stunning! We don’t have those fellows, here, I’d not seen one before).
It amazes me how often Birds seem to come and offer comfort, or even acknowledgement of a momentous time. There’s so much we don’t, so much we can’t, know. But I know I’m happy you have that image in your heart.
Thank you for sharing this piece. It is beautiful and touching and heartfelt.
It’s also infuriating the way the church and the reverend handled your situation.
I related to your bumpy relationship with a higher power. Religion was pushed on me in school, and so I resisted. Then I went full scientific materialist for a while. And then the trajectory of my life took another turn and things like philosophy made my relationship with a higher power much more nuanced.
And I must say, there were so many well-written and poignant lines in this piece. Truly a lovely read.
Michael, thanks so much for taking the time to read, and for your kind words. I’m personally, in hindsight, a big fan of the bumpy road to a higher power. I used to be super envious of the people who just had it forced on them & accepted it, it seemed like such an easier route…but that could never have been my path. I went to rehab in my early twenties and, of course, was exposed to the 12 Steps. Well, in case you’re not familiar, Step 2 is ‘We came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity’ and Step 3 is ‘Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him’ - so I was in all sorts of trouble! It took another decade for me to discover what I felt God was (and I still flinch a little when using that word, the Divine is easier, I suppose), and it was under the guidance of various Mystics, kindly lighting the path across the centuries…
Thank you, again, for sharing 🪶
Thank you for sharing your experience. I’m also happy to have had a bumpy road to a higher power. I feel that by rejecting it and not just accepting what I was told - when it did come into my life through my own struggles I was finally able to see it in a new light. I didn’t go through the 12 step program but I also got sober before/during the time in which I became more open to the idea of a higher power.
And yes I totally agree the language around the whole thing makes it hard to word, every term seems to come with its own baggage.
Thanks again for being so open Chole.
Congratulations on your sobriety, Michael. And your wonderfully curious and open mind, too.
I’m so sorry that happened. Hugs!!! The reverend is human and not perfect, however, it feels that the only response should’ve been, “I’m so sorry, please, let’s schedule a time right now for you to come see me so that we can make sure this doesn’t happen again.” I’m sorry that’s not the response that was given.
It’s okay to write your feelings and thoughts in the moment-because sometimes that’s all there is to give. You gave a beautiful, honest, and respectful perspective, which you didn’t have to do, but you did, and it speaks to the human you are💜
Thanks, lovely. I appreciate the reminder of the Reverends humanity, I do need to keep that in mind. And I agree entirely with you in regards to what her response should have been, and intend to communicate exactly that to her in-person.
And yes, this was all there was, all I had in me this weekend, it’s felt like there’s been little space in my head or body for much else. Thank you for validating that 💗 Hugs to you
What a very insensitive, bureaucratic response to a very natural distress. You write about it with delicacy and tact, while being honest.
Bureaucratic, indeed. The incongruence felt, feels, astounding. Thank you, Michelle.
I think I’ll arrange a FaceTime call with me mum now... thank you 🙏🏼
Then my work here is done!
This is profoundly human and for that reason profoundly beautiful.
Thank you, Adam. You are profoundly human, too...
I am meditating on your post, Chloe. I listened to God is a DJ. I will echo David Perry's comment that we have all come together to support you in your grief and shock - a virtual service in your mother's memory. This could be a moment of power, and we can hope, greater compassion.
The pastor there seems to have misplaced her reverence, which is a great pity for her and her congregation. It's part of the reason more and more of us are finding our way to the divine on our own. 💜💜💜
My dear, Troy. Oh thank you, thank you for listening to God is a DJ, I can't tell you the size of the grin that spread across my face when I saw that you had. That whole first verse means so much to me. I knew Maxi, his birthday date was my mothers deathday date (different years, of course) and his relationship to his own spirituality was a great inspiration to me.
David's comment did me very well to read. A reframing of the situation, of this little post, of this entire Substack endeavour, really. I agree, this could be a moment of power. I actually feel as though the comment section alone has turned it into that, already.
And yes, thankfully there are many and varied routes to the divine. As always, I so appreciate your being here✨💜🪶
You are absolute magic, my dear, I hope you know that.
It is frustrating for sure! I mean, they are making you abide by their rules, when they have been negligent in following the rules regarding the taking care of your family's space. Is there any paperwork detailing the relationship and service agreement that was made with the church when the space was purchased / received? I'm sure some good money was paid for it (?), and perhaps they need more than unpaid volunteers to follow through on their commitments! They should at least replace the plants. Ugh. Institutions are just that. Institutions. That includes the Church. ANY church of ANY denomination or religious belief is just that - an institution run by people who are indeed flawed. Also, Episcopal churches are very hierarchical in nature so there is always an archdiocese or some governing body that complaints could be raised to if the reverend is unable to accommodate you.
Thank you, Freddy. I think what you’ve said regarding institutions is what I’m coming to realise. It reminds me of being in my teens and it suddenly hitting me that the people running the country were in no way different from anyone else, just adults with all the same psychological issues as all the other adults; only difference being that they had an inordinate amount of power.
I suppose it took me so long with the Church as I assumed there’d be a level of spiritual maturity that would engender a natural kindness.
Seems a bit naive, now. We’ll see where we get in person…wish us luck!
Maybe some would say naive; others might say you are "hopeful." That's the essence of the good stuff, the real stuff, so don't lose that if you can help it! :) Hope it goes well for you all when you get there. I would focus on your experience of being sad and upset that those things that you valued so much were no longer there - focus on your experience of the loss and connecting it to feeling the loss all over again. Maybe (and hopefully) there is a pastoral side of the reverend that will shine through this time. It's a good day to have a good day. Wishing you luck!
Bless you, Freddy. I so appreciate your kindness, and positivity. You’re right, I need to take some time to feel it all, and to keep an open mind. It is indeed a good day to have a good day :) Thank you, again
That is just awful. I would have been furious, too. And the lack of kindness shown to you in response is disheartening. I'm so sorry.
Thank you so much. I did get to the furious stage, eventually. I’m just looping on what could possibly have been going through the mind of the person who did it, as they did it. And then that reply just compounded my disbelief…
Still, I’m grateful that it’s led to some contemplation around what is most sacred to me. Thank you for reading 🪶
I’m so sorry this happened, sending you many hugs and love 💕
Thank you, lovely. Very much appreciated 💗
😌💕