I loved every word in this essay -- you were (and are) such a precious child. I thought about Vonnegut’s “karasse” in “Cat’s Cradle” -- you, Cora, all of us here, too.
I had to ask my sisters' permission before using that photo. 😂 All three of us hate it for individual reasons, though how we were dressed for most of our upbringing has a lot to do with it!
When I was eleven my parents went on a trip to New England without us. A woman named Sandy watched us for a week. I'll be damned if I can remember a single actual detail about Sandy. But I do know she was "unconventional" for suburban Denver. Probably the first unconventional person I might. And even thought it might only have been a week, to this day I believe she lit a spark in me to love and appreciate that which is unconventional, and to seek it out in my own life in whatever ways possible.
So I agree with 100% about short encounters having huge impacts on us. I'm glad you have your Cora...
What a lovely memory. This might start a trend for me, remembering these brief encounters with people who changed the way we saw the world. (Though I immediately thought of a babysitter I had a few times -- the only thing I remember about her is that she smoked, but my parents have told me she was the one who taught me the f-word.)
This is beautiful, Nia; thank you very much. I have goosebumps, and not just because of the New England chill here in Connecticut (though it's much colder back home in Kentucky). This essay resonates with me in ways, to put it in lab medicine parlance, "TNTC," too numerous to count.
What a beautiful, heart wrenching, emotional, and wonderful essay. I cannot say enough kind words about it, and it's impact on me. Thanks so much and I hope your world, the forests, mountains, and loved ones help you through this time of year. hugs, Paul
It is wonderful to read an essay such as this honoring our ancestors and predecessors. Indeed fortunate when we are given so many spirit guides among people and other living beings.
I am convinced that the only measure of immortality we can be sure of rests within those words of kindness and affection spoken about us long after we've left this world. And while it is up to each of us to plant the seeds of those words while we walk out this life, there are times when we sow unwittingly simply by being authentic and present in those fleeting moments of joy and connection with another human being. It's a little bit like magic.
You have done your beloved Cora a great service. Thank you for sharing.
"Maybe some of the deepest impacts on us come from the people who slip out of this life without leaving many noticeable marks behind." This is true, I think. Along with the influential mentor or grandparent who taught us everything important and inspired by example, there are the people who were just.....in our lives, somewhere. With Cora, I wonder if it had to do with her being an authority figure other than your parents, who was nevertheless kind and bucked that stereotype? I have noticed before how children of a certain age tend to gravitate towards any older person they meet or grandparent who is unusually "cool"; a role that parents just can't fill. Or maybe Cora was secretly a remarkable person and somehow you could sense that energy from her, indirectly?
I imagine that a child's very first experiences of the death of someone they knew can be a huge deal, even if that person was only a peripheral presence. So it could be that Cora was the first person who taught you about death, what it means to lose someone.
That last is very true. I vividly remember her memorial service and how upset I was that I wasn’t allowed to go to the burial afterward (I think my parents thought I was too young).
And those are such good questions about what it was about her. I know almost nothing about her, so saying she was a kind person isn’t something I can claim with any true knowledge. I remember her being kind to me, which was maybe enough. Not in any overt or active way, but just generally low-key and nice to be around while I dusted.
(Someday I’ll go into my lifelong relationship with dusting, which I actually dislike a lot but am always aware of the need for. There might be some small factor in here about her house being easy to dust because she didn’t have a lot of clutter.)
I always think about this. My husband and I met a guy named John hiking down Yosemite once, we talked to him for probably an hour but we have quoted him regularly for more than a decade now. There have been so many chance encounters like that that have shaped us. I wonder how many people we touch briefly but stay with forever!
That is a lovely story. That reminds me of an article someone once wrote about a similar encounter with my mother-in-law's cousin, whom you might meet and cheerfully chat with camping in any number of places across the West!
Beautifully written, Antonia. I've been sitting here reflecting on my dad, a person who, though he was always there in my life (and continues to be now that he has passed on), remains an utter mystery to me. The reflections are amplified as I am editing the chapter in my book that tells the story of his passing, one my editor said was "one of the most lifeless," and I really don't know what to do with it. As written, I don't think I could get through it in front of an audience without breaking apart so who knows what it is missing. We do indeed all have these people in our lives and it is complicated. I hope I can figure out a way to get it on the page.
That sounds so hard, Chris. I can’t think of anyone who would find what you’re writing easy or painless. It’s a lot more straightforward when it’s someone like Cora, who can remain a mystery without making a mystery of my own life, as the blank story might if she were a parent or grandparent. I hope the way to it will come to you, too. The most personal writing is always the hardest, isn’t it? But I don’t always understand what editors are looking for, either.
Most of our footprints get washed away by the next wave, but sometimes some remain. Random bits of our stories will remain and, if (as in your case, Nia) they illustrate some grander historical trend or theme, get passed along.
Or, more simply, your great-grandchildren will read your books in awe about the world you lived in.
I hope that of the stories that remain, books or not, the coming generations will see more of the ones that strengthen the threads of community and interconnection, rather than the other kind. We’ll see.
That's the wild thing, isn't it? One hundred years after we transition, nobody will visit our graves. But for a while after that day, we will live on through the indelible markings that we've drawn on each other's souls. It's wild and beautiful.
That is beautifully said. And yeah, that 100-year thing is what has made sitting down to write easier for me over the years: in 100 years not only will I be dead but nobody will remember I existed! It’s okay!
This is a lovely perspective, Max, and I really appreciate the reminders that my time with Cora might not have been just happenstance. The memory of her does knock loudly, though it's not really memories of *her,* come to think of it, but memories of myself as I was with her. Something to think about there ...
Hope that wood pile kept you warm yesterday! What wild weather.
I loved every word in this essay -- you were (and are) such a precious child. I thought about Vonnegut’s “karasse” in “Cat’s Cradle” -- you, Cora, all of us here, too.
I had to ask my sisters' permission before using that photo. 😂 All three of us hate it for individual reasons, though how we were dressed for most of our upbringing has a lot to do with it!
Thank you 🧡🧡🧡
When I was eleven my parents went on a trip to New England without us. A woman named Sandy watched us for a week. I'll be damned if I can remember a single actual detail about Sandy. But I do know she was "unconventional" for suburban Denver. Probably the first unconventional person I might. And even thought it might only have been a week, to this day I believe she lit a spark in me to love and appreciate that which is unconventional, and to seek it out in my own life in whatever ways possible.
So I agree with 100% about short encounters having huge impacts on us. I'm glad you have your Cora...
What a lovely memory. This might start a trend for me, remembering these brief encounters with people who changed the way we saw the world. (Though I immediately thought of a babysitter I had a few times -- the only thing I remember about her is that she smoked, but my parents have told me she was the one who taught me the f-word.)
This is beautiful, Nia; thank you very much. I have goosebumps, and not just because of the New England chill here in Connecticut (though it's much colder back home in Kentucky). This essay resonates with me in ways, to put it in lab medicine parlance, "TNTC," too numerous to count.
Hugs from CT,
Greg
TNTC sounds like sparkles but I'm sure that's not how it's usually used!
Hugs back, and thank you, Greg 🧡
What a beautiful, heart wrenching, emotional, and wonderful essay. I cannot say enough kind words about it, and it's impact on me. Thanks so much and I hope your world, the forests, mountains, and loved ones help you through this time of year. hugs, Paul
Oh, big hugs back to you. Thank you for sharing this response! May everything around you help you with what might be needed, too. 💗
It is wonderful to read an essay such as this honoring our ancestors and predecessors. Indeed fortunate when we are given so many spirit guides among people and other living beings.
Thank you so much for this. I love this way of looking at the way the memory of a person becomes part of us. 💜
I am convinced that the only measure of immortality we can be sure of rests within those words of kindness and affection spoken about us long after we've left this world. And while it is up to each of us to plant the seeds of those words while we walk out this life, there are times when we sow unwittingly simply by being authentic and present in those fleeting moments of joy and connection with another human being. It's a little bit like magic.
You have done your beloved Cora a great service. Thank you for sharing.
This is all so true and so well said! I am convinced of the same, even though I hadn’t thought of it in these terms. Thank you! 💜
"Maybe some of the deepest impacts on us come from the people who slip out of this life without leaving many noticeable marks behind." This is true, I think. Along with the influential mentor or grandparent who taught us everything important and inspired by example, there are the people who were just.....in our lives, somewhere. With Cora, I wonder if it had to do with her being an authority figure other than your parents, who was nevertheless kind and bucked that stereotype? I have noticed before how children of a certain age tend to gravitate towards any older person they meet or grandparent who is unusually "cool"; a role that parents just can't fill. Or maybe Cora was secretly a remarkable person and somehow you could sense that energy from her, indirectly?
I imagine that a child's very first experiences of the death of someone they knew can be a huge deal, even if that person was only a peripheral presence. So it could be that Cora was the first person who taught you about death, what it means to lose someone.
That last is very true. I vividly remember her memorial service and how upset I was that I wasn’t allowed to go to the burial afterward (I think my parents thought I was too young).
And those are such good questions about what it was about her. I know almost nothing about her, so saying she was a kind person isn’t something I can claim with any true knowledge. I remember her being kind to me, which was maybe enough. Not in any overt or active way, but just generally low-key and nice to be around while I dusted.
(Someday I’ll go into my lifelong relationship with dusting, which I actually dislike a lot but am always aware of the need for. There might be some small factor in here about her house being easy to dust because she didn’t have a lot of clutter.)
Thank you.
🧡🧡🧡
I always think about this. My husband and I met a guy named John hiking down Yosemite once, we talked to him for probably an hour but we have quoted him regularly for more than a decade now. There have been so many chance encounters like that that have shaped us. I wonder how many people we touch briefly but stay with forever!
That is a lovely story. That reminds me of an article someone once wrote about a similar encounter with my mother-in-law's cousin, whom you might meet and cheerfully chat with camping in any number of places across the West!
Such a beautiful piece.
Thank you! 🧡
Beautifully written, Antonia. I've been sitting here reflecting on my dad, a person who, though he was always there in my life (and continues to be now that he has passed on), remains an utter mystery to me. The reflections are amplified as I am editing the chapter in my book that tells the story of his passing, one my editor said was "one of the most lifeless," and I really don't know what to do with it. As written, I don't think I could get through it in front of an audience without breaking apart so who knows what it is missing. We do indeed all have these people in our lives and it is complicated. I hope I can figure out a way to get it on the page.
That sounds so hard, Chris. I can’t think of anyone who would find what you’re writing easy or painless. It’s a lot more straightforward when it’s someone like Cora, who can remain a mystery without making a mystery of my own life, as the blank story might if she were a parent or grandparent. I hope the way to it will come to you, too. The most personal writing is always the hardest, isn’t it? But I don’t always understand what editors are looking for, either.
Most of our footprints get washed away by the next wave, but sometimes some remain. Random bits of our stories will remain and, if (as in your case, Nia) they illustrate some grander historical trend or theme, get passed along.
Or, more simply, your great-grandchildren will read your books in awe about the world you lived in.
I hope that of the stories that remain, books or not, the coming generations will see more of the ones that strengthen the threads of community and interconnection, rather than the other kind. We’ll see.
Thank you, Charley. That means a lot.
That's the wild thing, isn't it? One hundred years after we transition, nobody will visit our graves. But for a while after that day, we will live on through the indelible markings that we've drawn on each other's souls. It's wild and beautiful.
That is beautifully said. And yeah, that 100-year thing is what has made sitting down to write easier for me over the years: in 100 years not only will I be dead but nobody will remember I existed! It’s okay!
I like that, “indelible markings.”
Some people just won't wash off of you, you know?
For better or worse, I guess. There are some people I wish wouldn’t live rent-free in my head but Cora is not one of them 💜
This is a lovely perspective, Max, and I really appreciate the reminders that my time with Cora might not have been just happenstance. The memory of her does knock loudly, though it's not really memories of *her,* come to think of it, but memories of myself as I was with her. Something to think about there ...
Hope that wood pile kept you warm yesterday! What wild weather.