Up Front: Giving Me Grief
109 Responses
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I've been trying to come up with words for you, Emma. But in the end, I'm letting Mavis Staples do the talking.
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Emma Hart, in reply to
And I just spent five minutes weeping helplessly at my desk. Touché, Brown.
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Megan Wegan, in reply to
Well, you made us all cry. Seems fair.
(For the record, there's no way i am clicking on that link of Russell's.) -
Lovely post, Emma.
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<frantically wiping away tears> Look, can the human race find a cure for death already? I'm beginning to get quite exasperated about this issue.
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Well damn. That has to be one of the best things I've read. Thank you for writing it Emma, I'm so sorry for your mother's death.
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Beautiful.
I only met your Mum a couple of times but her strength, dignity and compassion were obvious and I admired her greatly.
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sashaying your way down the catwalk in your seventies and four-inch heels
I so, so love this.
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I have to go out, Emma, so I'll write something longer this afternoon, but darling, our darling.
Oh, how it hurts, how it stings, how it strengthens us and makes us more human. How it shapes us and turns us.
All my love. All of it. -
I so, so love this.
Purple suede spike-heeled boots. So awesome. The funeral director is supposed to be sending me a copy of the dvd, and when they do I'll upload the tribute video. It was great. People were laughing so hard, and then behind me my cousin's daughter started crying and I was thinking, "gods, no, I have to get up and speak in a minute, don't you go, or I will..."
The funeral director asked me to get clothes for Mum, and she couldn't quite believe it when I passed her knee-high cuban-heeled black leather boots.
Also, I appear to have broken myself writing this. I haven't cried this hard at all.
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What a stunning tribute Emma.
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Emma - you unwrapped a part of me that is right back there the day we all came together in Mum's little flat the day after she died. Expecting her to pop out of the kitchen, knife in one hand - mid-preparation for a meal - "Hello, love!" But there was this emptiness instead. Her book on the table where she'd put it. (My mother died very suddenly - so suddenly I couldn't get there, though I tried.)
So, Emma, my sincerest condolences. And thank you for writing this very moving post.
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That is just absolutely lovely Emma. We are currently going through a family illness, with a possible terminal outcome, and while I'm not the one sitting doing crosswords, the scenario you described really struck a chord (and started the water works). A secret chord even.
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing HallelujahArohanui.
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Lara,
Just waving away people saying "I'm fine. I'm fine. I just need tissues for a minute." What a beautiful tribute to your Mum.
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Craig Ranapia, in reply to
Look, can the human race find a cure for death already?
What a horrid thought - sorry if this is not the time or the place, but grief is a good and healthy thing. Wanting to wish away that all things have their time - and all things have their ending -- isn't, though it is so human.
When my Grandmother died, I got some rather triggering comments because my eyes were dry. I just couldn't see anything to cry about over a woman who had a long life, and a good one for the most part, but towards the end she was sick, tired and so desperately lonely. She'd outlasted her husband, all her siblings and most of her friends -- she was done.
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Beautiful beyond words (and what words). Arohanui
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Oh, Emma. I'm like so many of your friends here - I have tears running down my face, for you, for your family, for your mum, and for the beauty of your writing. It is a fine tribute, and it shouts loud and clear, this woman was deeply loved by her daughter.
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Then I came back home to Christchurch, and Mum, it was so hard.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where I broke down. Such a lovely, tender, thoughtful piece Emma - thank you.
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I just love "You’d’ve" as a word, I try and use it whenever I can - probably causes generations of English teachers to cringe, but then also remark "well at least you got the apostrophes right"
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I so, so love this.
Purple suede spike-heeled boots. So awesome.
The boots, too, naturally. But I was thinking of your words, and the order in which you placed them.
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Like we always did, I’d get stuck two clues from the end, but you weren’t there to ask.
She is. You just can't hear her.
I have written before about my grandmothers, and the role they played in my life, and not a day goes by when I don't think about one or other of them. The tattoo I got yesterday was, to a large degree, inspired by them.
And every time I have been in a difficult position, anytime I've had to make a hard decision, it's their voices I hear*. Believe it's them, or not, or just my brain telling me what they'd say, but it's helpful. This year, while I've been depressed, I haven't heard them, and I've missed them.
She's there, not because she's physically in the room with you, but because you knew her and loved her, and remember her. She'll come back when you are ready.
* And yes, I did just say I hear voices in my head. Is anyone really surprised?
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sally jones, in reply to
clever and witty without ever being cruel.
A difficult balance indeed.
Very sorry to hear about your mum, Emma. You certainly have written a beautiful tribute.
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Lilith __, in reply to
Emma, I'm sorry for your loss. And I think your tribute is beautiful.
Craig, I understand what you're saying, but I understand Danielle's feeling too. I lost an uncle and an aunt within a few months of each other last year. They were both elderly and significantly disabled; I'm sure they didn't want to go, but I think life was holding less and less pleasure for them. It wouldn't be fair to want them to go on struggling, but it's such a big loss for the rest of us. I just hate that they're not still here to talk to and share with, with all their lifetime of experience and funny anecdotes and silly jokes. I don't like it and I still don't want to accept it.
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Hugs Emma, anytime you need one I'll send it ... and one on the way now because I need to hug you - even if only virtually.
Thank you for sharing your sadness.
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Wonderful, wonderful words, Emma.
I didn't know your mum but I shall be thinking a lot about her today.
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