This was absolutely beautiful, Jeannine, and that poem. It took my breath away, and tears came to my eyes. All creatures know love. Ah, my heart. Thank you for giving voice to the grief so many of us are feeling. There is no distance at all. We're in it with all the creatures. The least we can do is open our arms and join them in the rushing waters as we try to save what is most precious in us and them.
Thank you, Jeannine, for the incredible poem. Gasping is the only appropriate response. I knew J35, (if you can ever really claim to know a whale, which is of course impossible.) I should say that I watched her for years, observed her aboard my wooden boat, knew her dorsal knicks and the sound of her spout, her dialect and cadence and who her closest sisters and aunts and cousins were. I knew her grief as well, and also did not. More so now that I am a mother, now that I have lost loved ones. All creatures know love, indeed. Thank you. ❤️
Thank you. I have been silent these days, processing things i need to process, but would like to acknowledge I am here, at the edge of the circle with love desiring to toss some dust on the wounds on the wounds of others and to thank you for the love in your words. (Also a wondering, during and sfter the "tour of grief" were her pod waiting for her? Witnessing her grief? Did she join them again after her very personal, private tour of grief?)
I feel your presence, Melanie! And I do not know about the pod--I remember watching and reading along through it in real time, but I do not remember that detail. Now I will be looking it up.
Thank you Jeannine. Yes, I remember being so touched by her and her obvious love and grief. And now, as we grow community, i find myself wondering where her pod was.
This post brings to mind the novel Leaving Time by Jodi Picoult. The writing is exquisitely desccribes the uniqueness of elephants, how they love, express emotions and how the, like humans, feel sorrow and grieve. We are interconnected no matter how some may choose to turn away from that truth.
That last line opened the flood gates: We must carry all we can, including each other, tossing dust, removing darts, lifting tusks and trunks, for as long and far as we can. Thank you for these beautiful words and helping us remember that we can carry each other pretty far.
Today I sat in my monthly mama's circle, witnessing stories of grief. I can see clearly that our witnessing and holding each other was indeed removing darts and tossing dust. Circles of women provide sustenance and sanctuary for me. I'm also grateful to slowly enter this community of kindness.
The orca, the elephants, and all living things. Real and raw and honest, this is overflowing with love and connection.
I was reminded of the story and statue of Hachikō, the dog who waited every day for nine years for his deceased owner to return where he’d last seen him. And the book Leaving Time by Jodi Picolt, which had a gorgeous subplot about elephants.
Tour of grief just took my breathe away, I literally sobbed. Wow. And I just put Once Their Were Wolves on my Libby hold list. Thanks. Jeannine, you have a way of bringing the right words at the right time. I think with this collective grief we’re all sharing in the United States, or half of us, this resonates well. And I think, I don’t know who said this, did you say this? Grief brings everybody to the party. anyway I think these past five days have all have us reeling with grief and emotion and, yeah, all the things. xo
Jeannine, I am reading a book called THE HIDDEN LIFE OF TREES by Peter Wohlleben, and guess what? Trees feel pain, too. I am convinced that all living things, be it plant or animal, deserve our respect and reverence. We would do well to learn more about ourselves by turning to the natural world. Thank you for such a tender piece today. We all need that soft landing.
Oh, now that I know you've read it, I am even more eager to dive into it. I've always loved trees, but learning about their familial networks and language deepens that affinity.
The phrase the burden and the bearer brought this to mind. Last night when we were getting ready for bed, I was talking climate change with my 8 year old (as one does), she asked me: "Why did God make people if we keep wrecking everything?" Gutting, but an incomplete story. It makes me as an elder feel like a burden to her because of our ineptitude at addressing the crises we face. It also made me sad that this is the story of humanity she knows instead of the ways her indigenous ancestors and indigenous folks today tend to the earth and the sky and everything in between for the benefit of all.
That's a hard question, Amy, isn't it? My kids ask similar things often. I tell them I don't know, that there's much I don't have answers to, but that I do believe in a loving God and that somehow, in the midst of all this mess and mystery, we are still carried and cared for.
It is a hard question because we are doing real harm now. But that doesn't have to be the story, we can be a force for restoration, but it would require honesty, imagination, and a willingness to make hard and dramatic changes. We'd have to let go of a lot of conveniences and a lot of consumerism.
I think each of us can do that - make the hard changes. But it has to be a choice and that's where my concern lies, because it seems that, as a society, we have devolved from honesty, integrity, kindness, courtesy, etc. That's why I choose to do what I can in my small way, hoping it affects others and inspires them to do what they can in their communities.
Yeah COVID and its aftermath definitely annihilated the idea that we could/would make decisions for the common good. But yeah, I think it starts with demonstrating it’s possible in small pockets.
Beautiful essay, Jeannine. And the poem, breathtaking. "We must carry all we can, including each other, tossing dust, removing darts, lifting tusks and trunks, for as long and far as we can." Thank you.
What a gorgeous essay. I came back to love today in my writing, unbeknownst that you would do the same. I'm raw and hurt and angry and sad and strong and resilient. All creatures know love.
Thank you for honoring the grief. Beautiful in its simplicity and bone.
If loving big means hurting big I still won’t love less. We can still remove darts and open traps for those who hurt more than us while our arms lift and our hearts-and drums— beat.
Thanks for keeping the lights on here. So very grateful.
Yes, Emily! "If loving big means hurting big I still won't love less." You are another light. It has been a sigh of relief for me to see more Substackers writing things like this in the last several days, when I have also observed many others who continue the hate speech. I can't tell you how overwhelmed I feel with gratitude to be among those of you who are spreading kindness and hope. Thank you.
I am grateful for the variety of spaces here, and that everyone can process in their own way. I love big, but I have an equal amount of rage for anyone who hurts anyone I love. I don’t want to live there, though— I hope to continue show up the way I want to. Thanks for your light, Jeannie.
so good!
Thank you for sharing "Tour of Grief"! I love the shift in scale and perspective. The topic of animals and grieving must be in the air lately. I just read this fascinating essay in the New Yorker about a new book by Susana Monso, "Playing Possum: What Animals Understand about Death." https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2024/11/04/playing-possum-susana-monso-book-review#:~:text=The%20question%20isn't%20whether%20animals%20have%20anything%20like%20a,stronger%20than%20death%20between%20animals.
This was absolutely beautiful, Jeannine, and that poem. It took my breath away, and tears came to my eyes. All creatures know love. Ah, my heart. Thank you for giving voice to the grief so many of us are feeling. There is no distance at all. We're in it with all the creatures. The least we can do is open our arms and join them in the rushing waters as we try to save what is most precious in us and them.
Thank you, Jeannine, for the incredible poem. Gasping is the only appropriate response. I knew J35, (if you can ever really claim to know a whale, which is of course impossible.) I should say that I watched her for years, observed her aboard my wooden boat, knew her dorsal knicks and the sound of her spout, her dialect and cadence and who her closest sisters and aunts and cousins were. I knew her grief as well, and also did not. More so now that I am a mother, now that I have lost loved ones. All creatures know love, indeed. Thank you. ❤️
Kendall, my god this is so beautiful. I am so happy for you that you knew J35. What a gift. Thank you for sharing that gift here. Extraordinary!
Thank you. I have been silent these days, processing things i need to process, but would like to acknowledge I am here, at the edge of the circle with love desiring to toss some dust on the wounds on the wounds of others and to thank you for the love in your words. (Also a wondering, during and sfter the "tour of grief" were her pod waiting for her? Witnessing her grief? Did she join them again after her very personal, private tour of grief?)
I feel your presence, Melanie! And I do not know about the pod--I remember watching and reading along through it in real time, but I do not remember that detail. Now I will be looking it up.
Thank you Jeannine. Yes, I remember being so touched by her and her obvious love and grief. And now, as we grow community, i find myself wondering where her pod was.
This post brings to mind the novel Leaving Time by Jodi Picoult. The writing is exquisitely desccribes the uniqueness of elephants, how they love, express emotions and how the, like humans, feel sorrow and grieve. We are interconnected no matter how some may choose to turn away from that truth.
Thanks for that, Paulette. I love elephants so much.
I do too! They’re majestic.
Yikes, I apologize for so many typos. Note to self, wear your glasses.
That last line opened the flood gates: We must carry all we can, including each other, tossing dust, removing darts, lifting tusks and trunks, for as long and far as we can. Thank you for these beautiful words and helping us remember that we can carry each other pretty far.
Today I sat in my monthly mama's circle, witnessing stories of grief. I can see clearly that our witnessing and holding each other was indeed removing darts and tossing dust. Circles of women provide sustenance and sanctuary for me. I'm also grateful to slowly enter this community of kindness.
I'm so glad you have that circle, Shea. And I am glad you are here, too.
Beautiful! And hopeful...
Thank you, Phyllis!
That last sentence of yours here. Wow, that's something else. Lovely.
"Love is in need of love today. Don't delay. Send yours in right away." ~Stevie Wonder
"What we dream of is already present in the world." ~Rebecca Solnit
I love that you give us Stevie Wonder.
The orca, the elephants, and all living things. Real and raw and honest, this is overflowing with love and connection.
I was reminded of the story and statue of Hachikō, the dog who waited every day for nine years for his deceased owner to return where he’d last seen him. And the book Leaving Time by Jodi Picolt, which had a gorgeous subplot about elephants.
I read about that dog! And someone else mentioned Leaving Time. Thank you for this, Joy!
Tour of grief just took my breathe away, I literally sobbed. Wow. And I just put Once Their Were Wolves on my Libby hold list. Thanks. Jeannine, you have a way of bringing the right words at the right time. I think with this collective grief we’re all sharing in the United States, or half of us, this resonates well. And I think, I don’t know who said this, did you say this? Grief brings everybody to the party. anyway I think these past five days have all have us reeling with grief and emotion and, yeah, all the things. xo
Thank you so much, Maureen. I don't know who said that grief brings everybody to the party--but, yes, that feels true. xoxo
Jeannine, I am reading a book called THE HIDDEN LIFE OF TREES by Peter Wohlleben, and guess what? Trees feel pain, too. I am convinced that all living things, be it plant or animal, deserve our respect and reverence. We would do well to learn more about ourselves by turning to the natural world. Thank you for such a tender piece today. We all need that soft landing.
That is such a great book!
One of my absolute favorite books!
Oh, Jeannie, I love love love that book! If only we honored these truths.
Oh, now that I know you've read it, I am even more eager to dive into it. I've always loved trees, but learning about their familial networks and language deepens that affinity.
And how the trees communicate, protect each other, look after their dead ...
The phrase the burden and the bearer brought this to mind. Last night when we were getting ready for bed, I was talking climate change with my 8 year old (as one does), she asked me: "Why did God make people if we keep wrecking everything?" Gutting, but an incomplete story. It makes me as an elder feel like a burden to her because of our ineptitude at addressing the crises we face. It also made me sad that this is the story of humanity she knows instead of the ways her indigenous ancestors and indigenous folks today tend to the earth and the sky and everything in between for the benefit of all.
That's a hard question, Amy, isn't it? My kids ask similar things often. I tell them I don't know, that there's much I don't have answers to, but that I do believe in a loving God and that somehow, in the midst of all this mess and mystery, we are still carried and cared for.
It is a hard question because we are doing real harm now. But that doesn't have to be the story, we can be a force for restoration, but it would require honesty, imagination, and a willingness to make hard and dramatic changes. We'd have to let go of a lot of conveniences and a lot of consumerism.
I think each of us can do that - make the hard changes. But it has to be a choice and that's where my concern lies, because it seems that, as a society, we have devolved from honesty, integrity, kindness, courtesy, etc. That's why I choose to do what I can in my small way, hoping it affects others and inspires them to do what they can in their communities.
Yeah COVID and its aftermath definitely annihilated the idea that we could/would make decisions for the common good. But yeah, I think it starts with demonstrating it’s possible in small pockets.
I know. I can't stop thinking of the children. All of the children. We bear that, too. Love to you.
Beautiful essay, Jeannine. And the poem, breathtaking. "We must carry all we can, including each other, tossing dust, removing darts, lifting tusks and trunks, for as long and far as we can." Thank you.
Honestly, thank you, all of you. Along with my family and closest friends, this place has been my solace.
What a gorgeous essay. I came back to love today in my writing, unbeknownst that you would do the same. I'm raw and hurt and angry and sad and strong and resilient. All creatures know love.
Yes. Back to love--which is also action. Love is a verb.
Thank you for honoring the grief. Beautiful in its simplicity and bone.
If loving big means hurting big I still won’t love less. We can still remove darts and open traps for those who hurt more than us while our arms lift and our hearts-and drums— beat.
Thanks for keeping the lights on here. So very grateful.
Yes, Emily! "If loving big means hurting big I still won't love less." You are another light. It has been a sigh of relief for me to see more Substackers writing things like this in the last several days, when I have also observed many others who continue the hate speech. I can't tell you how overwhelmed I feel with gratitude to be among those of you who are spreading kindness and hope. Thank you.
I am grateful for the variety of spaces here, and that everyone can process in their own way. I love big, but I have an equal amount of rage for anyone who hurts anyone I love. I don’t want to live there, though— I hope to continue show up the way I want to. Thanks for your light, Jeannie.
Yes, all this. xo
❤️