I am moved to tears again. Thank you for sharing your inner world with us. I feel so honored and moved by your story of Sister and how her presence fills your lives with love and healing. Yes, sadness too but I think there are different kinds of sadness. There is despair with no hope, or the intimacy of sadness that brings more love as our hearts break open further. Beautiful .
Thank you for this and I think you have captured something so important and what you just said. They sure are different types of sadness, and different types of grief. If I had tried to write about my grief and sadness in the early years after that loss, it would have sounded very different than what comes up for me today. It's with time and the support of an amazing community that I am able to hold sadness and hope together, and I am grateful for that and for them. And for you.
I just shared about my little sister, who I entitled “The Korean Christmas Gift” when I submitted an article to Reader’s Digest right after my 12th Christmas.
The messages are getting crossed. My problem, not anyone else’s.
Can you please tell me if you are referring to Lydia or someone else?
This held so much care and depth without ever trying to make it tidy. I love how love and loss are allowed to sit at the same table and move through the same evening. The way connection showed up in that room felt real and lived in. It’s the kind of writing that stays with you long after you close the page.
This is so tender and so real. I was struck by the way grief is given a life of her own here — not as something that disappears, but something that matures, comes and goes, and changes how she moves through your home. That feels deeply true.
The ordinary holiness of it all stayed with me most: pizza at the kitchen table, artwork on the walls, a lamp, a mug, a child wandering in. How love keeps finding ways to live on through objects, rituals, and people who remember together. The moment with your youngest — greeted by friends who loved his aunt — felt especially profound. Legacy without direct memory, carried through relationship.
What you show so beautifully is that shared grief doesn’t just reopen wounds; it can widen the space for connection. The way laughter, tears, anger, gratitude, and remembrance all sat at the same table felt honest and earned. Thank you for letting us witness how grief, when allowed to be shared, can be both devastating and quietly warm — and how, sometimes, she gives us back to one another.
This was the line that got me " Legacy without direct memory, carried through relationship." a perfect description of what it felt like that night. Thank you for your beautiful words. Always.
This is beautiful and palpable. Thank you for sharing your heart. Your sister in law sounds as if she’s hanging around loving you from a different plane of being. That type of presence is my favorite.❤️🌀
I have learnt that my grief softens into a new way of being. It is held in the light of love, as it returns, as it always will do. Beautifully written.
Your description of grief is so beautiful, something that walks beside you, a juxtaposition of love, loss and joy in rebirth. It’s lovely that you have the comfort of the family’s material object around you, small things like a light to bring the gift of writing and words, beds to give sleep and repose, a balance to that stolen choice to see these much loved people when you want.
Thank you for this. We were so close not to keeping anything, thinking at the time it would be far too painful to have reminders. Several years later I'm so glad we didn't make that choice, it's a strange comfort.
Oh, how i love these words of yours. " For a long time she never left. Now, like a grown child, she comes and goes, but she always returns. And even when she is gone, her essence lingers in the background, a quiet reminder that she is never far away."I suppose you could say Grief came to visit when I lost two siblings, one after the other, 9 months apart, when I was eleven and twelve years old. I didn't know what to do with her (no one around in the 60's to help a kid process such loss ), and she went quiet until 46 years later, when I suddenly lost my last remaining sibling. She came out of hiding and stayed for a long time. And yes, her essence lingers. She is never far away. I like these words. I wrote a story about how grief came along with me to the coffee shop on one of the anniversaries of my grown-up brother's death. I tried to talk her out of it, but she didn't listen. I began to view her as a friend that night.
This is a heartbreaking experience. I feel so much for that young version of you that had to navigate grief alone. Of course she came roaring back. Thank you for sharing this tender experience here. I am honestly overwhelmed by the community on here. Thank you for being here for all this time. I feel like I know you.
I am moved to tears again. Thank you for sharing your inner world with us. I feel so honored and moved by your story of Sister and how her presence fills your lives with love and healing. Yes, sadness too but I think there are different kinds of sadness. There is despair with no hope, or the intimacy of sadness that brings more love as our hearts break open further. Beautiful .
Thank you for this and I think you have captured something so important and what you just said. They sure are different types of sadness, and different types of grief. If I had tried to write about my grief and sadness in the early years after that loss, it would have sounded very different than what comes up for me today. It's with time and the support of an amazing community that I am able to hold sadness and hope together, and I am grateful for that and for them. And for you.
I just shared about my little sister, who I entitled “The Korean Christmas Gift” when I submitted an article to Reader’s Digest right after my 12th Christmas.
The messages are getting crossed. My problem, not anyone else’s.
Can you please tell me if you are referring to Lydia or someone else?
Superb, powerful ending.
Thank you for sharing it.
Thank you for saying that and more importantly, thank you for being here.
Please, since I am quite new to Substack, can you explain what being tagged means on this platform?
Grief teaches us to heal, yes it does. I deeply resonate with your words as I have also lived with these feelings for years. Achingly beautiful 🙏🏼♥️
I'm so glad that the words resonate. Achingly beautiful is a perfect way to put it.
This held so much care and depth without ever trying to make it tidy. I love how love and loss are allowed to sit at the same table and move through the same evening. The way connection showed up in that room felt real and lived in. It’s the kind of writing that stays with you long after you close the page.
This means more to me than you probably know. Thank you.
This is so tender and so real. I was struck by the way grief is given a life of her own here — not as something that disappears, but something that matures, comes and goes, and changes how she moves through your home. That feels deeply true.
The ordinary holiness of it all stayed with me most: pizza at the kitchen table, artwork on the walls, a lamp, a mug, a child wandering in. How love keeps finding ways to live on through objects, rituals, and people who remember together. The moment with your youngest — greeted by friends who loved his aunt — felt especially profound. Legacy without direct memory, carried through relationship.
What you show so beautifully is that shared grief doesn’t just reopen wounds; it can widen the space for connection. The way laughter, tears, anger, gratitude, and remembrance all sat at the same table felt honest and earned. Thank you for letting us witness how grief, when allowed to be shared, can be both devastating and quietly warm — and how, sometimes, she gives us back to one another.
This was the line that got me " Legacy without direct memory, carried through relationship." a perfect description of what it felt like that night. Thank you for your beautiful words. Always.
Grief is never linear…. But it is also never lonely! Your writing has taught me that last bit, thank you for sharing ❤️
Ok, this is humbling. Thank you, it's a gift to me.
🤍🤍🤍
This is beautiful and palpable. Thank you for sharing your heart. Your sister in law sounds as if she’s hanging around loving you from a different plane of being. That type of presence is my favorite.❤️🌀
Definitely true that I still feel deeply connected to her.
Felt this so very much. The way you write about grief making room for love landed deeply.
Thank you for trusting us...
Thank you for sharing this and for showing up here.
I have learnt that my grief softens into a new way of being. It is held in the light of love, as it returns, as it always will do. Beautifully written.
Yes, it took quite a long time, but that was the strange path for me. Thank you so much for sharing here.
Your description of grief is so beautiful, something that walks beside you, a juxtaposition of love, loss and joy in rebirth. It’s lovely that you have the comfort of the family’s material object around you, small things like a light to bring the gift of writing and words, beds to give sleep and repose, a balance to that stolen choice to see these much loved people when you want.
Thank you for this. We were so close not to keeping anything, thinking at the time it would be far too painful to have reminders. Several years later I'm so glad we didn't make that choice, it's a strange comfort.
Wow, such a moving piece full of such deep honesty it is almost searingly sad. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for reading and sharing your response. This community has been so moving for me.
Your writing is so beautiful, and the sentiments shared are both profound and heartwarming. Thank you for opening your heart to us.
I have found such a profound sense of community here, thank you for being part of that.
Oh, how i love these words of yours. " For a long time she never left. Now, like a grown child, she comes and goes, but she always returns. And even when she is gone, her essence lingers in the background, a quiet reminder that she is never far away."I suppose you could say Grief came to visit when I lost two siblings, one after the other, 9 months apart, when I was eleven and twelve years old. I didn't know what to do with her (no one around in the 60's to help a kid process such loss ), and she went quiet until 46 years later, when I suddenly lost my last remaining sibling. She came out of hiding and stayed for a long time. And yes, her essence lingers. She is never far away. I like these words. I wrote a story about how grief came along with me to the coffee shop on one of the anniversaries of my grown-up brother's death. I tried to talk her out of it, but she didn't listen. I began to view her as a friend that night.
This is a heartbreaking experience. I feel so much for that young version of you that had to navigate grief alone. Of course she came roaring back. Thank you for sharing this tender experience here. I am honestly overwhelmed by the community on here. Thank you for being here for all this time. I feel like I know you.
But it’s a long and hard road to get there.
Thank you for naming. For years, I hated my grief, it felt like pain. Period. Time and connection has softened me.
Grief is softened when it's shared.
Indeed, it took a long time for me to get there…
If years have gone bye
How far back do we go
To catch up?
Where do we start
Knowing there is
No end?
A step at a time
Has never been truer.
Group grief, group hugs
Kleenex available
Group tears
A bond woven in to the
Braid of grief, paradox, love.
Such a paradox. One I'm very (and oddly) grateful for).