'Lonely and solitary work', you say in this poignant piece, Danusha. I was fine reading until I got to these words. A gift to have my feelings mirrored back to see. My beloved Helga has been gone over four years now, and this morning I find a page of her indescribably difficult handwriting, she the anthropologist imitating hieroglyphics, not really, but an old passport in the papers talking about her birth in Nazi Germany where Sara became the second name of every Jewish child, a name she liked. How her parents changed her second name to Eileen in England to fit in, so not her name. A snippet of her Holocaust life that was an ink stain seeping through our thirty plus years together. Thank you for your writing, it makes me feel less alone. What seemed innocuous at the beginning, your two baskets, and wasn't!
This is gorgeous. I just restocked it with a note. Your writing made me want to hug you across the miles and reminded me that letting go is a gift to ourselves and others. And yet, there is still a breast pump in my basement. My youngest is 13. I wrote a post on letting go a few weeks ago that you might like, especially the poem at the end. https://pocketfulofprose.substack.com/p/on-letting-go Grateful for you and can’t wait for Poetry of Resilience.
"Best to keep two baskets, one by the door, and one by the heart." Yes to this! Beautiful, Danusha. I am thankful to have found you here. I may need another basket—to collect words that inspire and encourage me! Thank you!
I can't even begin to tell you how moved I am reading this. I've buried 3 friends/family members all around my age in the last week and I've been really aware of the desire to only hold in my days that which is treasured, including with whom I spend my time and how. And that piece about letting go disappointment . . . Sigh. Thank you, Danusha.
'Lonely and solitary work', you say in this poignant piece, Danusha. I was fine reading until I got to these words. A gift to have my feelings mirrored back to see. My beloved Helga has been gone over four years now, and this morning I find a page of her indescribably difficult handwriting, she the anthropologist imitating hieroglyphics, not really, but an old passport in the papers talking about her birth in Nazi Germany where Sara became the second name of every Jewish child, a name she liked. How her parents changed her second name to Eileen in England to fit in, so not her name. A snippet of her Holocaust life that was an ink stain seeping through our thirty plus years together. Thank you for your writing, it makes me feel less alone. What seemed innocuous at the beginning, your two baskets, and wasn't!
This is gorgeous. I just restocked it with a note. Your writing made me want to hug you across the miles and reminded me that letting go is a gift to ourselves and others. And yet, there is still a breast pump in my basement. My youngest is 13. I wrote a post on letting go a few weeks ago that you might like, especially the poem at the end. https://pocketfulofprose.substack.com/p/on-letting-go Grateful for you and can’t wait for Poetry of Resilience.
Thank you for this. Your words are beautiful and useful. I feel held in the letting go ❤️❤️
"Best to keep two baskets, one by the door, and one by the heart." Yes to this! Beautiful, Danusha. I am thankful to have found you here. I may need another basket—to collect words that inspire and encourage me! Thank you!
I can't even begin to tell you how moved I am reading this. I've buried 3 friends/family members all around my age in the last week and I've been really aware of the desire to only hold in my days that which is treasured, including with whom I spend my time and how. And that piece about letting go disappointment . . . Sigh. Thank you, Danusha.
Lovely, and pertinent to where I am, mentally and emotionally. The sorting, the keeping, the letting go. ❤️
Really lovely, Danusha🙏🏻