Oh Cole, I really loved this. You made me tear up, and want to rush over to my parent’s house and hug them, and go and see my sisters and my brother and, we’ll, everyone important to me. Thank you for this wonderful gift. You are an incredible writer. 🙏❤️
Thank you for making me feel a bit more confident this morning, Francesca. I'm glad to hear the piece spoke to you at all. I was uncertain about publishing here, as it's only vaguely connected to pop-culture, but I couldn't help myself.
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing. My 4 siblings and I grew up without a lot of touch from our parents, or I should say, they did, because as the baby, I received a lot of warm and loving physical expressions. My older sisters played with my hair, especially on car trips. As adults, every single one of us are huggers with each other and with our families (go figure). We all were touching some part of my mother when she passed. I hated not being there when my father passed. You really have a gift, Cole, for touching people’s hearts.
Thank you so much for the lovely, lovely note. I just showed it to my wife, who smiled at that final sentence. I’m sorry you couldn’t be there for your father’s passing.
Damnit Cole. You’ve struck again—so many gulps for air in the river of tears. Hits right in the universal heart. What a fantastic form of vignettes to illustrate this idea, too. Thank you, it is stunning.
You used personal story and vulnerability in a wonderful way to make me feel this truth in my heart. Thank you for this important reminder.
This is a reason I often think that the film “Five Feet Apart” came out at a crazy providential time. Like a warning that we were all going to learn how to empathize with not being able to touch the people we love, whether we had a chronic disease or not. Dating my now-husband long distance at the time also hammered this grief home in my heart. Now that I live with him thousands of miles away from my family, I feel fear for this same grief that one day I’ll have to say goodbye to my grandparents and parents. Will I have made them feel enough of the love I wish them to know I carry for them before it’s too late?
I don't know if anyone who's died on me remotely understood how much I loved them. I thought I'd done enough to show it, to make myself understood, but it never worked. I wish you better luck at it, Ceylan.
Thank you for these beautiful words. They brought so many memories for me, some painful ones, but also some beautiful moments I had forgotten. Thank you for that.
If that is remotely true, it has not prevented me from failing to be the son I think I should've been -- or, at least, could've been. I'm trying to be the father I wish I had, but I'm, of course, failing at that, too. Thanks for the lovely note, Ute.
Everyone has goals and expectations of how to be a good parent. We are all flawed humans , and failure is not a word I would use in that regard. It’s an individual thing. When I got divorced due to a mental illness that nobody knew how to deal with, I left the kids (13 and 10 yrs old) with their father b/c he was the better parent at the time. I was cursed by many who thought I was a bad mother. That didn’t do much to help with my recovery.
My kids are now in their mid 30s, with kids of their own. They love having me around. Their dad and I danced at their wedding and we have always been in touch.
I love the title of this, Cole. It is a beautiful piece of writing and thought-provoking in so many ways. I love how hopeful the last section is despite all the sorrow which comes before. I’m going to be thinking about this for a while - and that’s a good thing. Thank you.
It was greatly appreciated though. Thanks for thinking of me. I know I’ve said this before but I always appreciate the honesty with which you speak about your parents. The section where you write about your father at your grandmother’s funeral was particularly touching.
Thank you for the lovely note, Katrina. I'm a bit overwhelmed by an interstate move at the moment, but I will endeavor to get to this as quickly as possible.
Oh Cole, I really loved this. You made me tear up, and want to rush over to my parent’s house and hug them, and go and see my sisters and my brother and, we’ll, everyone important to me. Thank you for this wonderful gift. You are an incredible writer. 🙏❤️
Thank you for making me feel a bit more confident this morning, Francesca. I'm glad to hear the piece spoke to you at all. I was uncertain about publishing here, as it's only vaguely connected to pop-culture, but I couldn't help myself.
Oh, man. So lovely. Many tears.
Thank you for the lovely note, Kim.
This is absolutely heart breaking and heart awakening at the same time. An amazing gift to give to a reader. Thank you this 🫶
Thank you for the unbelievably lovely note, Holly, and reading.
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing. My 4 siblings and I grew up without a lot of touch from our parents, or I should say, they did, because as the baby, I received a lot of warm and loving physical expressions. My older sisters played with my hair, especially on car trips. As adults, every single one of us are huggers with each other and with our families (go figure). We all were touching some part of my mother when she passed. I hated not being there when my father passed. You really have a gift, Cole, for touching people’s hearts.
Thank you so much for the lovely, lovely note. I just showed it to my wife, who smiled at that final sentence. I’m sorry you couldn’t be there for your father’s passing.
That was beautiful, Cole, thank you.
Thanks for reading, Sheila.
Just beautiful, Cole. Thank you for writing and sharing this.
And thank you for reading, Andrea.
Damnit Cole. You’ve struck again—so many gulps for air in the river of tears. Hits right in the universal heart. What a fantastic form of vignettes to illustrate this idea, too. Thank you, it is stunning.
Oh, thank you. Maybe I've found my brand on here. I'm the guy who talks about movies in between punching people in their hearts? Heh.
Beautiful piece.
Thanks for the lovely note, David, and for reading.
You used personal story and vulnerability in a wonderful way to make me feel this truth in my heart. Thank you for this important reminder.
This is a reason I often think that the film “Five Feet Apart” came out at a crazy providential time. Like a warning that we were all going to learn how to empathize with not being able to touch the people we love, whether we had a chronic disease or not. Dating my now-husband long distance at the time also hammered this grief home in my heart. Now that I live with him thousands of miles away from my family, I feel fear for this same grief that one day I’ll have to say goodbye to my grandparents and parents. Will I have made them feel enough of the love I wish them to know I carry for them before it’s too late?
-Ceylan from OBA Media
I don't know if anyone who's died on me remotely understood how much I loved them. I thought I'd done enough to show it, to make myself understood, but it never worked. I wish you better luck at it, Ceylan.
Thank you for these beautiful words. They brought so many memories for me, some painful ones, but also some beautiful moments I had forgotten. Thank you for that.
You’re welcome. I’m so grateful this piece is resonating with people.
damn... such thoughtful, heartfelt, true writing. and so human. thank you.
You're welcome, Glenn. But also, thank you for reading.
You have a brain that understands what your heart is telling you. A rare gift. I adore every sentence. 💚
If that is remotely true, it has not prevented me from failing to be the son I think I should've been -- or, at least, could've been. I'm trying to be the father I wish I had, but I'm, of course, failing at that, too. Thanks for the lovely note, Ute.
Everyone has goals and expectations of how to be a good parent. We are all flawed humans , and failure is not a word I would use in that regard. It’s an individual thing. When I got divorced due to a mental illness that nobody knew how to deal with, I left the kids (13 and 10 yrs old) with their father b/c he was the better parent at the time. I was cursed by many who thought I was a bad mother. That didn’t do much to help with my recovery.
My kids are now in their mid 30s, with kids of their own. They love having me around. Their dad and I danced at their wedding and we have always been in touch.
Thanks for sharing a bit of your story, Ute. I really do appreciate it.
What a profoundly personal and yet somehow universal story, Cole. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you, Tess, and thank you for reading it.
Oh man, I'm crying now. I need to go hug some people. That's raw, in a good way.
Well, mission accomplished. I hope they feel how much you love them.
I love the title of this, Cole. It is a beautiful piece of writing and thought-provoking in so many ways. I love how hopeful the last section is despite all the sorrow which comes before. I’m going to be thinking about this for a while - and that’s a good thing. Thank you.
You're welcome, Lou. I'm glad my previous warning wasn't necessary.
It was greatly appreciated though. Thanks for thinking of me. I know I’ve said this before but I always appreciate the honesty with which you speak about your parents. The section where you write about your father at your grandmother’s funeral was particularly touching.
Stunning. So, so lovely. My tears flow freely. Thank you, Cole, for this moving essay. Something about it reminds me of my latest essay--perhaps, it's the main thread of loss? Now I'm going to go and love on my two littles who are sick with the flu on the couch. If you're interested in reading my essay, here it is: https://open.substack.com/pub/katrinadonhamwrites/p/a-loss-is-a-loss-is-a-loss?r=3cnvg1&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=false
Thank you for the lovely note, Katrina. I'm a bit overwhelmed by an interstate move at the moment, but I will endeavor to get to this as quickly as possible.
No worries! Good luck with your move! I hope that it is as smooth of a transition as possible.
Thank you! It was unexpectedly forced on us, but we're making the best of it -- even if we feel like we're sinking most days.
😢