“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language,
and next year’s words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.”T. S. Eliot
Rifling through the kitchen cabinet, you know the one, the cabinet where you put important papers. The one where you stuff letters, passports, and receipts, where there is a couple of twenty dollar bills for anyone who needs a twenty. Landing on the envelope that had been slammed to the back several years ago, I pull it out. Even now I can feel my heart kick up as I read it again.
It is an innocent enough card, but the written note stung. The writer has always hoped that my thoughts and heart would become lighter so that I could enjoy my life a little more. I am sure the writer did not intend for the words to land as they did. I wondered to myself, does everyone see me as some pathetic woman who is not enjoying her life? Do I appear as someone with a heavy heart and not engaging in life? Is that what everyone thinks of me? I stopped writing altogether. I thought maybe people were drawing conclusions from my writing and translating that into the perception that I was a miserable wretch. This was just post COVID, we were all miserable, weren’t we?
Shame. It has taken me four years, but I can name what I felt for years when I would think of the card. Shame. Shame for writing in my authentic voice about the reality of maternal grief. Shame for not having a brilliant life where I was all light and sunshine. Shame for my sorrow for a boy who was human sunshine. Shame for not getting over it. Shame for the passage of time to not ease the longing for one more minute in his company. To experience one more mega watt smile. God it hurts, it still hurts, it will always hurt.
I do have joy. Joy and sorrow exist in the same moment. I do enjoy my life, we visited a camera store the day after Christmas, trust me, I came out with bags of joy. Bags. Went back the next day for more joy. See, that is the fine edge, that is living. To engage in something that you love, for me, photography, without ever having the opportunity to share that joy with Justin. I grab it anyway. And I can laugh and cry in the same moment. I can feel the exhilaration of a waterfall and have my spirit fly above the pounding water and wipe the tears away because he isn’t here to climb the rocks and marvel at the majesty of nature. All at the same time. We are dimensional creatures, layered and complex. And we are achingly beautiful in all our facets.
Resonating deep, T. S. Eliot’s words, “And next year’s words await another voice.” echo in my heart. Chose your own voice. Let no one presume a narrative for your life. Cast last year’s words into the fire and allow them to be consumed and give new light. Relegate shame to “last year’s words” and not part of your next year’s words. There is no shame in loving and grieving a child. There is no shame in sharing a lived human experience of grief and loss.
Our hearts don’t have to be light and free to live, the greatest triumph is to live with a shattered heart, that is where true courage lies. That is the crucible where we find our voice for next year’s words. Affirming words that whisper to us that we are growing, learning, evolving, words that we offer in tenderness to our own soul.
May 2026 bring us the quiet to hear our own fresh voice rising to our lips showering us with language for the new year, leaving the old words to last year.
Hi Teri. I quit writing about Adam on FB for similar reasons (though I will continue posting a photo of him on his birthday). It wasn’t because of what anyone said as I didn’t post that often, but I began to understand that others could use my ongoing grief as an excuse to relieve their own discomfort by turning it on me. The card you received is exactly that and its author should be ashamed of themselves. Someone with a very sick child once said, “I’m everyone’s inspiration and nobody’s friend.”
Terri, your willingness to share what you have is …..well, this poet can’t find the right words. Nourishing, validating, deeply loving and meaningful. Your writing lifts my heart—deep sadness and lifelong grief do coexist with hope and joy and it’s the fabric of life. For me, getting to “ know” Justin a bit has been been quite special, and through your willingness to share I’ve gotten to know you a bit as well, I thank you for writing as you do.
As one who is also wrestling with a few critics ( including one who lives inside me) I know the impulse to shut down and not write or share at all.
May we know that our voices need to be shared. As Jena Schwartz once wrote, “I am not for everyone.” You, dear Terri, touch lives in a very special way.
Terri, your writing,—which is an extension of you—is and has been deeply meaningful to me. Of course deep sadness and lifelong grief coexist with joy and hope and they always will. I’ve been gifted by the opportunity to get to “know” Justin a bit. To get to know you. And I am most grateful.
As one who has a few critics— the worst of whom lives inside me—I’ve also let (my reaction to) them stem the flow of my words. It is a struggle to contend with the forces that make silence seem like the easiest option.
May we both respect the life of what wants to come through our pens. May we rise above the strident voice of shame and share who we are–the raw, tender, terrible and beautiful mess of it–freely, and release the results to the winds–north and south and east and west. I do believe in my heart this is what we are meant to do. while here.
Thank you, Terri, for being and writing.
Dear Melinda, your words are like having a rainbow of jewels spilled into my hands, spilling over into my lap. Thank you for the gift of your time and your words. I am humbled, honored, and oh so grateful. Love, Terri
Oh, I’m so sorry that you (or anyone) received such a note. I am grateful for your continuing portrayal of grief’s long arc. How could it be otherwise? I love your exquisite photos (esp. of the cherry blossoms), your dogs, your garden, your hikes. Grief and joy, I see them.
Dear Peg, Thank you for your note and for the gift of your time to read and comment. Thank you for your steadfast encouragement. I am counting the weeks until cherry blossoms, they are to me the quintessential portrayal of life. The bud, the exquisite bloom, the waterfall of blooms, and so fleeting. They remind me to inhale as much of life as I can. Wishing you a 2026 filled with magical moments. Love, Terri