This is beautiful. I broke down doing my dad’s fridge over a slice of Starbucks lemon loaf. I cannot picture my father ever entering a Starbucks and I bet he was really looking forward to eating that. Now I get one every time I go to Starbucks xo
Karen, this was so beautiful and so familiar. It was a privilege to be close to you and your family during your mom's Shiva, and I am happy I got to talk a bit to your daughters, whom I hold up to my daughter as role models.
I still vividly remember, clearing out my dad's apartment, staring uncomfortably at all the letters and postcards he had received from people I barely knew or not at all. That kind of alienation — that you can somehow be so intimate with someone and yet so far from their inner life — is impossible to rationalize.
I also want to add that I mentioned to Fatma how weird it is that South Africans say, "I wish you long life" to a bereaved family member. It seems almost insensitive, like a backwards compliment.
Love to you and your family. Let's keep in touch (I mean it).
You tore at my heart strings big time. I can feel your pain it with your beautiful descriptive prose and I am sending you a large hug. Please ignore my recent IG message to you until further notice. I am sorry to bother you. xo
Not me crying. Again. Like when you told the spice story to me. I’ve been waiting for this and it’s as gorgeous and beautiful as I imagined it would be. ❤️
I love you so much. Please pitch this somewhere when you’re ready. This version of her memory is truly a blessing. In Armenian we say, “May she sleep on a bed of pomegranates” and I assume we mean the arils because sleeping on the fruit would be so lumpy and suck. Xo
This is beautiful. I broke down doing my dad’s fridge over a slice of Starbucks lemon loaf. I cannot picture my father ever entering a Starbucks and I bet he was really looking forward to eating that. Now I get one every time I go to Starbucks xo
This is so beautiful Karen. Thank you for sharing it. xox
Thank you for sharing this 💔
Karen, this was so beautiful and so familiar. It was a privilege to be close to you and your family during your mom's Shiva, and I am happy I got to talk a bit to your daughters, whom I hold up to my daughter as role models.
I still vividly remember, clearing out my dad's apartment, staring uncomfortably at all the letters and postcards he had received from people I barely knew or not at all. That kind of alienation — that you can somehow be so intimate with someone and yet so far from their inner life — is impossible to rationalize.
I also want to add that I mentioned to Fatma how weird it is that South Africans say, "I wish you long life" to a bereaved family member. It seems almost insensitive, like a backwards compliment.
Love to you and your family. Let's keep in touch (I mean it).
You tore at my heart strings big time. I can feel your pain it with your beautiful descriptive prose and I am sending you a large hug. Please ignore my recent IG message to you until further notice. I am sorry to bother you. xo
*hugs*
Not me crying. Again. Like when you told the spice story to me. I’ve been waiting for this and it’s as gorgeous and beautiful as I imagined it would be. ❤️
I love you so much. Please pitch this somewhere when you’re ready. This version of her memory is truly a blessing. In Armenian we say, “May she sleep on a bed of pomegranates” and I assume we mean the arils because sleeping on the fruit would be so lumpy and suck. Xo
Beautiful and poignant. Love to you and to all the points on your compass.
Beautiful, friend, and I’m a little weepy. Big hugs. ❤️
Thank you for this gorgeous meditation on the unpredictability of grief. Much love to you and yours. xo