Thank you for this poignant and thoughtful piece, Leah. I "lost" my best friend a year ago. She was so alive and then she wasn't. I wasn't prepared for the body blow her death caused. I had a very hard year.
At this age "losing" people, and other things, i.e. mobility, hearing, sight, energy, is the measure of our days.
Mortality has been on my mind a lot this year. What is the measure of a life? All the knowledge, experiences of things that can no longer be found in this world, and even wisdom, all wrapped up in a body that ages and fails and fades away. We are each like a time capsule of our life, a repository of the history of our time here on earth; so much inside us and then poof It's gone! - except the memories of what you left behind.
Not necessarily happy thoughts, but something to chew on as we continue to fill the last decades of our own private time capsule.
Painfully beautiful, intensely moving, and as always with your work, utterly eloquent in its consideration of the fundamental truths that define what it means to be human. I lost four very close friends this past year, my 77th. Haven't fully absorbed their absence yet. On the family scoreboard, I'm now the oldest surviving member on both the maternal and paternal sides of large Sicilian immigrant clans. That gives me pause (Gulp!) but far more it saddens me in the ways you so poignantly describe.
Me, too, Frank. I grew up in the family Mother Ship in Brooklyn, the house that was the center of all celebrations and all catastrophes. I am the only one living who grew up there. That's probably justified, because I was the youngest. But it leaves me feeling empty to know that I'm the only one who remembers that life there. xx
Yes, and I am thinking about the suitcases crammed with family photos in our attic. I knew all my great-aunts and uncles. Naming them for my kids would be useless.
Still here, dear Leah, with memories of hiding under the table at Seders, playing cards on the sunporch, the wooden blocks stored under a cabinet or the fridge in the downstairs kitchen, the baby grand in the living room, the miniature animals in your and M’s room, and my last time there for beloved Uncle’s funeral. ❤️
My mother, a Holocaust survivor who will soon turn 96 in a few days, offers this pragmatic advice: you will lose friends and family. Make friends two and three generations younger than you. Start today. In a few years, those woven friendships will fill holes in the warming blanket. Not in the same way, but in a novel way. They will bring their own warmth; welcome it. They are the ones with whom to share the memory of the lost and missing friends and family.
Thank you, Leah, for your poignant reminder to keep the memory of those we cherish in the face of our loss of them.
Diminished, yes! Almost 14 months have passed since the dearest of friends died. She meant the world to me. Her photo is by my bed. I find myself smiling at her, and still in disbelief that she's gone. So sorry for your tsunami of losses. However, as you poignantly remind us, they're here somewhere inside us. But also it's not the same. PS: This made me smile: "Her father bought her a corsage to wear on the plane when we took off from New York."
ah, damn. i know those holes in the blanket won't go away any time soon, but i hope those of us who love you and are still here can keep you warm. big hugs and xox to you, dear leah
Yes, diminished is the right word. Memories no longer available for discussion and laughter, answers to questions I want to ask, no longer available. Yes, diminished.
Oh those questions, those conversations unexpressed. In a few cases (the first two I wrote about), I more or less got to say goodbye. With the others, it's just a raw edge.
Leah, Holding back tears with your wonderful post, reminding me of all the friends I have lost. Your writing is remarkable and I think you should collect all your posts in a book, publish it somehow, and have a book signing party with all the desserts like those amazing parties of olde.
Thank you for this lovely eulogy. I find it impossible just to let go of people so I have my ways of grieving like I started cooking from NYT recipes because a dear friend used to love to do that for his wife and tell me about it with his characteristic aplomb. Then he died suddenly. But ten people in seven weeks! I can’t cook that much!
Such deep feeling, expressed with such vividness and light--you convey the reality of life, friendship, appreciation and loss in all the ways that it's both profound, and incomprehensible. You write from the human heart, and speak to us all.
I can't quite wrap my head around diminished associated with you. You are so present. There memories are clearly a blessing. One you have shared with us.
Thank you for this poignant and thoughtful piece, Leah. I "lost" my best friend a year ago. She was so alive and then she wasn't. I wasn't prepared for the body blow her death caused. I had a very hard year.
At this age "losing" people, and other things, i.e. mobility, hearing, sight, energy, is the measure of our days.
Mortality has been on my mind a lot this year. What is the measure of a life? All the knowledge, experiences of things that can no longer be found in this world, and even wisdom, all wrapped up in a body that ages and fails and fades away. We are each like a time capsule of our life, a repository of the history of our time here on earth; so much inside us and then poof It's gone! - except the memories of what you left behind.
Not necessarily happy thoughts, but something to chew on as we continue to fill the last decades of our own private time capsule.
Impossible not to chew on it. The challenge is not to let it color everything gray. But anyone who doesn't think about mortality is a dope!
A memory is in such good hands with you. Grateful for the sharing of this universal ache, the way you have burnished it.
Oh, let’s do coffee soon.
Any Wednesday
Got class until the end of May. After that!
Painfully beautiful, intensely moving, and as always with your work, utterly eloquent in its consideration of the fundamental truths that define what it means to be human. I lost four very close friends this past year, my 77th. Haven't fully absorbed their absence yet. On the family scoreboard, I'm now the oldest surviving member on both the maternal and paternal sides of large Sicilian immigrant clans. That gives me pause (Gulp!) but far more it saddens me in the ways you so poignantly describe.
Me, too, Frank. I grew up in the family Mother Ship in Brooklyn, the house that was the center of all celebrations and all catastrophes. I am the only one living who grew up there. That's probably justified, because I was the youngest. But it leaves me feeling empty to know that I'm the only one who remembers that life there. xx
Family memory seldom lasts more than three generations. It is extraordinarily fragile--especially among the descendants of immigrants.
Yes, and I am thinking about the suitcases crammed with family photos in our attic. I knew all my great-aunts and uncles. Naming them for my kids would be useless.
Still here, dear Leah, with memories of hiding under the table at Seders, playing cards on the sunporch, the wooden blocks stored under a cabinet or the fridge in the downstairs kitchen, the baby grand in the living room, the miniature animals in your and M’s room, and my last time there for beloved Uncle’s funeral. ❤️
Will reply in email. Xx
My mother, a Holocaust survivor who will soon turn 96 in a few days, offers this pragmatic advice: you will lose friends and family. Make friends two and three generations younger than you. Start today. In a few years, those woven friendships will fill holes in the warming blanket. Not in the same way, but in a novel way. They will bring their own warmth; welcome it. They are the ones with whom to share the memory of the lost and missing friends and family.
Thank you, Leah, for your poignant reminder to keep the memory of those we cherish in the face of our loss of them.
Oh I have already started! Your mom’s advice was good
Always wonderfully sympathetic dear Leah, thank you again, Sandy
Thanks, Sandy. So many of our pals!
Diminished, yes! Almost 14 months have passed since the dearest of friends died. She meant the world to me. Her photo is by my bed. I find myself smiling at her, and still in disbelief that she's gone. So sorry for your tsunami of losses. However, as you poignantly remind us, they're here somewhere inside us. But also it's not the same. PS: This made me smile: "Her father bought her a corsage to wear on the plane when we took off from New York."
Aw, was going to send you a photo but I seem to have elctronically misplaced it. Ignore following message.
Am sending you a photo by email or text.
ah, damn. i know those holes in the blanket won't go away any time soon, but i hope those of us who love you and are still here can keep you warm. big hugs and xox to you, dear leah
You are one of the warming elements, dearie. Meet for tea one day?
yes, please. soon!
Kate was my big loss last month. I and many will miss her.
Heartbreaking . She was such a fierce warrior
Yes, diminished is the right word. Memories no longer available for discussion and laughter, answers to questions I want to ask, no longer available. Yes, diminished.
Oh those questions, those conversations unexpressed. In a few cases (the first two I wrote about), I more or less got to say goodbye. With the others, it's just a raw edge.
What we all face now as those before us faced. Age is a lonely hunter. I am so moved by such loss. Knit a warm blanket for yourself in their memories
I suppose the warmest blanket is the people we still have at our sides. Thanks for responding, Bonnie
At 85 I lots to do and so little time
Your comments rang true
Bill Owens
Thanks so much, Bill. Take comfort in all you have done.
Leah, Holding back tears with your wonderful post, reminding me of all the friends I have lost. Your writing is remarkable and I think you should collect all your posts in a book, publish it somehow, and have a book signing party with all the desserts like those amazing parties of olde.
Mousse! A reason to go on living
That’s the reason we had to hire Alley Cat pest control. Oh, mousse, sorry.
Thank you for this lovely eulogy. I find it impossible just to let go of people so I have my ways of grieving like I started cooking from NYT recipes because a dear friend used to love to do that for his wife and tell me about it with his characteristic aplomb. Then he died suddenly. But ten people in seven weeks! I can’t cook that much!
Trying to come up for air now.
I’ll be celebrating my 72nd BD tomorrow. Hard to believe, the yrs are passing too quickly. Let’s make a point to enjoy every day! Happy Birthday🧡
We share that May 2 birthday!
Let’s make it a good one!! I’m going to see the herd of seals at Pier 39🤣Happy Day to you🎂🎉🥳
Thank you! Say hi to everyone who barks
That’ll be about a thousand!!🦭🦭🦭🦭🦭🦭
Such deep feeling, expressed with such vividness and light--you convey the reality of life, friendship, appreciation and loss in all the ways that it's both profound, and incomprehensible. You write from the human heart, and speak to us all.
Thanks so much, Terry. Xxx
I can't quite wrap my head around diminished associated with you. You are so present. There memories are clearly a blessing. One you have shared with us.
Such a wonderful note. I loved our coffee last week. Xx