Lovely article. 💕 It caused a cascade of thoughts and memories. Here’s the main thread… forgive the length here.
35 years ago this week, aged 17, my boyfriend died in a road accident. He was walking on country lanes between my house and a youth center in his home town. Our parting words were about the meal planned for the next day (when he would visit me again). So much I can say about it all, and I probably need to, but to keep it short, it was the next morning, after a broken sleep and conversation with my family late into the night, that I experienced what you said.
“But it’s brutal, you know. How life doesn’t stop. For anyone. How the world keeps moving forward, marching on, indifferent to whether we’re ready to move along with it. “
This was the big lesson I learned that day. The birds sang, the grey clouds got in the way of the sun again, school was open, shops were open. Life was relentless in its forward momentum and I felt like I wasn’t in it for a while. I was more of an observer. I contemplated so often the lightning speed of death. Not dying which is still a form of living, but death. As soon as as you know it to be true it has passed.
This very week in 2025 I was able to see that this lesson learned so young shaped me significantly. It planted seeds for my reverence of the present moment.
I find contemplation of death to be enlivening. I see how it can also be entirely depressing but that’s not how I see it. At least it’s both.
I loved this article today. It transported me to that part of my life which I am open to this week and I have some softness for what occurred. RIP John.
Wow I'm blown away by this Zoe. Thank you for reading & leaving such a beautiful and moving reflection here. A reminder of why the effort of writing, or the effort of simply opening our humanity to others, is worth it. That is where love grows.
What a journey you take us on Tommy. Journeys, actually. This was sublime:
“as if being in the presence of old things was a kind of secret and available drug. There’s this remembrance of what I am and what is waiting that becomes crystal clear in these moments.”
I so love your visits on Saturday mornings—they deepen my life—my time in between the letters and numbers on my gravestone.
Whatever effort was required on your part to bring these words to the page, and I'm guessing that it's more than we know as it appears so effortless, I am grateful to you for. Reading it was like eating a meal by a Michelin chef, you can't imagine what's involved with bringing such a thing to the table, but you can feel difference between something that is simply functional and something that is elevated to an art form.
I absolutely agree that the deepest meaning is found in the ordinary, not the 'big events.' It’s so easy to miss those small, repetitive things that are actually the foundation of life.
You mentioned romancing the ordinary. I savour daily sun rays invading my room, the view on the mountain I see every single day of my life now.
Also shifting the perspective. I stopped getting angry when my boyfriend wakes me up early by accident. Yes, its brutal to not get enough sleep. But it’s so much more important to wake up next to the love of your life.
I love this last line of yours. My partner goes to sleep way later than me, and I am so often delighted to be woken up in the middle of the night by her, who comes to bed excitedly telling me about her night. I feel so lucky that I get to be half asleep in her arms, listening to her stories. It’s those small moments of connection that matter the most <3
I think this might be my favorite essay of yours. I have been thinking more about death and life lately, since I’ve been pregnant with my first child, and celebrating my one year anniversary. It seems now that I’m living through my most important years and I’m constantly reminding myself to not take things for granted, even the mundane and ordinary things. It’s like I can glimpse into the future and picture myself missing all this, all this love and freshness. The final words of your essay are a great comfort. I too believe that God makes us crave for eternity because it is a possibility.
Such beautiful reflections on a subject near to my heart: the tangled, thriving stories of all the unseen lives around us. I feel the same "sweet sadness" often while driving past lit up houses at night.
Just a tiny glimpse of a bobbing head, frantic TV, modest kitchen table, fills me with wonder about the hearts that inhabit those lamplit scenes. Did they just have the hardest day of their life? Are they about to bring their first child into the world? Are they chasing kids up and down the stairs at bedtime and trying not to lose their patience?
So many stories I will never know, and I pass them by and by and by.
Tommy, this is beautiful. I used to go on my own cemetery walks years ago, when I was searching for my late father’s gravestone which was lost to my mother about 20 years ago. I remember looking at the gravestones with my best friend and quietly imagining what the lives of those people would have been like and what world they were placed into, how they would perceive the one that we are in now. Now I need to go to a cemetery again.
This morning, a grey November day in the woods beyond Bucha, I awoke before dawn. Just kilometers away, civilians were executed in the streets and buried in mass graves in 2022. Out in this village, the cemetery is down a dirt road that is unmarked. I stumbled upon it one day on a bike ride and walked amongst the dead. Here, the tradition is to have an image or photograph of the person on the gravestone. This preserves them in a way uncommon in the West. Once a year, those who loved them gather at the grave with food and drink. One plate and glass is placed upon the grave for the one who lies there and the living share their memories of the one in the ground. It's a beautiful tradition to sit with the dead, talk with them and enjoy a meal as if they were there. I hope some day, people will do that for me
This bit, Tommy—just… thank you for writing it: “Because here’s the thing about loss no one talks about: the worst part is not the grief, but the knowledge that the grief will pass. The worst part is that someone who we saw every day, someone whose very existence seemed fused to our own, someone we thought we’d never have to inhabit this planet without, will leave. Fade into a memory. Then, something less than that. And the sharp particulars of their lives will become dull and distant, and all we can do is strain to remember, barely holding onto the very basics of their humanity, the sound of their voice, their laugh, what colour their eyes were. As much as we replay the past and try to keep the pain alive, the numbness will lift and colour will slowly ache back into things. Life will go on.”
Tommy, you are without a doubt, one of my favorite writers of all time. This whole piece transported me and made me feel so much. This sentence encapsulated something I've never been able to put into words: "All you have are these memories that pile up, that collect dust, memories that feel fugitive as your past increasingly becomes a fiction, like a novel written by a stranger, even though you alone were a witness to it." Thank you for writing <3
Lovely article. 💕 It caused a cascade of thoughts and memories. Here’s the main thread… forgive the length here.
35 years ago this week, aged 17, my boyfriend died in a road accident. He was walking on country lanes between my house and a youth center in his home town. Our parting words were about the meal planned for the next day (when he would visit me again). So much I can say about it all, and I probably need to, but to keep it short, it was the next morning, after a broken sleep and conversation with my family late into the night, that I experienced what you said.
“But it’s brutal, you know. How life doesn’t stop. For anyone. How the world keeps moving forward, marching on, indifferent to whether we’re ready to move along with it. “
This was the big lesson I learned that day. The birds sang, the grey clouds got in the way of the sun again, school was open, shops were open. Life was relentless in its forward momentum and I felt like I wasn’t in it for a while. I was more of an observer. I contemplated so often the lightning speed of death. Not dying which is still a form of living, but death. As soon as as you know it to be true it has passed.
This very week in 2025 I was able to see that this lesson learned so young shaped me significantly. It planted seeds for my reverence of the present moment.
I find contemplation of death to be enlivening. I see how it can also be entirely depressing but that’s not how I see it. At least it’s both.
I loved this article today. It transported me to that part of my life which I am open to this week and I have some softness for what occurred. RIP John.
Wow I'm blown away by this Zoe. Thank you for reading & leaving such a beautiful and moving reflection here. A reminder of why the effort of writing, or the effort of simply opening our humanity to others, is worth it. That is where love grows.
Zoe, this is beautiful. I’m sorry to hear about John. ❤️
Here I am again, being contributed to and learning from you.
And that you are connected with Tommy warms my heart.
What a journey you take us on Tommy. Journeys, actually. This was sublime:
“as if being in the presence of old things was a kind of secret and available drug. There’s this remembrance of what I am and what is waiting that becomes crystal clear in these moments.”
I so love your visits on Saturday mornings—they deepen my life—my time in between the letters and numbers on my gravestone.
🙏
Wow. It’s such a feeling to be moved by literature. You pose your thoughts humbly but I hope you know how much weight they have. Thank you.
Whatever effort was required on your part to bring these words to the page, and I'm guessing that it's more than we know as it appears so effortless, I am grateful to you for. Reading it was like eating a meal by a Michelin chef, you can't imagine what's involved with bringing such a thing to the table, but you can feel difference between something that is simply functional and something that is elevated to an art form.
I absolutely agree that the deepest meaning is found in the ordinary, not the 'big events.' It’s so easy to miss those small, repetitive things that are actually the foundation of life.
You mentioned romancing the ordinary. I savour daily sun rays invading my room, the view on the mountain I see every single day of my life now.
Also shifting the perspective. I stopped getting angry when my boyfriend wakes me up early by accident. Yes, its brutal to not get enough sleep. But it’s so much more important to wake up next to the love of your life.
Thanks for your essay, as always.
I love this last line of yours. My partner goes to sleep way later than me, and I am so often delighted to be woken up in the middle of the night by her, who comes to bed excitedly telling me about her night. I feel so lucky that I get to be half asleep in her arms, listening to her stories. It’s those small moments of connection that matter the most <3
Can feel your words💛
Read this with a smile :)
I think this might be my favorite essay of yours. I have been thinking more about death and life lately, since I’ve been pregnant with my first child, and celebrating my one year anniversary. It seems now that I’m living through my most important years and I’m constantly reminding myself to not take things for granted, even the mundane and ordinary things. It’s like I can glimpse into the future and picture myself missing all this, all this love and freshness. The final words of your essay are a great comfort. I too believe that God makes us crave for eternity because it is a possibility.
What a beautiful read first thing in the morning. What a poetic individual you must be.
Such beautiful reflections on a subject near to my heart: the tangled, thriving stories of all the unseen lives around us. I feel the same "sweet sadness" often while driving past lit up houses at night.
Just a tiny glimpse of a bobbing head, frantic TV, modest kitchen table, fills me with wonder about the hearts that inhabit those lamplit scenes. Did they just have the hardest day of their life? Are they about to bring their first child into the world? Are they chasing kids up and down the stairs at bedtime and trying not to lose their patience?
So many stories I will never know, and I pass them by and by and by.
Thanks Allison! That's beautiful (:
You are truly a precious person. Thank you for every word.
Tommy, this is beautiful. I used to go on my own cemetery walks years ago, when I was searching for my late father’s gravestone which was lost to my mother about 20 years ago. I remember looking at the gravestones with my best friend and quietly imagining what the lives of those people would have been like and what world they were placed into, how they would perceive the one that we are in now. Now I need to go to a cemetery again.
This morning, a grey November day in the woods beyond Bucha, I awoke before dawn. Just kilometers away, civilians were executed in the streets and buried in mass graves in 2022. Out in this village, the cemetery is down a dirt road that is unmarked. I stumbled upon it one day on a bike ride and walked amongst the dead. Here, the tradition is to have an image or photograph of the person on the gravestone. This preserves them in a way uncommon in the West. Once a year, those who loved them gather at the grave with food and drink. One plate and glass is placed upon the grave for the one who lies there and the living share their memories of the one in the ground. It's a beautiful tradition to sit with the dead, talk with them and enjoy a meal as if they were there. I hope some day, people will do that for me
That's a beautiful reflection, John. Thank you for sharing (:
Thank you for make me feel every word of this article. Enjoying the ordinary is something we take for granted.
Uf, I felt every word here. Can't be more relatable! <3
This bit, Tommy—just… thank you for writing it: “Because here’s the thing about loss no one talks about: the worst part is not the grief, but the knowledge that the grief will pass. The worst part is that someone who we saw every day, someone whose very existence seemed fused to our own, someone we thought we’d never have to inhabit this planet without, will leave. Fade into a memory. Then, something less than that. And the sharp particulars of their lives will become dull and distant, and all we can do is strain to remember, barely holding onto the very basics of their humanity, the sound of their voice, their laugh, what colour their eyes were. As much as we replay the past and try to keep the pain alive, the numbness will lift and colour will slowly ache back into things. Life will go on.”
Beautiful post Tommy. I love walking around cemeteries.
Tommy, you are without a doubt, one of my favorite writers of all time. This whole piece transported me and made me feel so much. This sentence encapsulated something I've never been able to put into words: "All you have are these memories that pile up, that collect dust, memories that feel fugitive as your past increasingly becomes a fiction, like a novel written by a stranger, even though you alone were a witness to it." Thank you for writing <3
Thank you Nola (: