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.
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
Lovely read, I also lost my grandfather very early on and that’s a wound that I still carry, sometimes I forget about it, however this article made me check on it, and it still hurts, maybe wound is not right word to describe it, because remembering him cheers me up, at the same time that it saddens me, what a complex thing grieving is.
What a thing of utter beauty you have written. It feels very appropriate for me to read at this time, with November well under way. I really struggled to accept the coming of autumn this year: I was so attached to the long summer we had and its fruitfulness (everywhere, people reported spectacular gardens. Mine is never that spectacular, but my tomato plants burst with life, well into September.)
This all seems to fit symbolically with your memento mori. What stands out for me, and I hope you see it too, that when you imagine the lives of these past people you imagine much love and connection. Even when loss is part of the story. You could have pictured them quarrelling and resenting and abandoning each other. That is, from one point of view, just as “real.” (Once, I found a blog by a woman who had died, - I did not know her - and her last entry was about how she had stopped having contact with her siblings. Of course, I’m sure she had all sorts of justifications for this, to herself and others. But what a dreadful last impression to leave. Better the faded stone, by far.)
Nobody enjoys thinking about death, except maybe the very young who don’t believe it will happen to them. But I feel strangely fortified after reading your essay. Thank you!
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.
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
Lovely read, I also lost my grandfather very early on and that’s a wound that I still carry, sometimes I forget about it, however this article made me check on it, and it still hurts, maybe wound is not right word to describe it, because remembering him cheers me up, at the same time that it saddens me, what a complex thing grieving is.
This was a sobering, but lovely read. Thank you.
What a thing of utter beauty you have written. It feels very appropriate for me to read at this time, with November well under way. I really struggled to accept the coming of autumn this year: I was so attached to the long summer we had and its fruitfulness (everywhere, people reported spectacular gardens. Mine is never that spectacular, but my tomato plants burst with life, well into September.)
This all seems to fit symbolically with your memento mori. What stands out for me, and I hope you see it too, that when you imagine the lives of these past people you imagine much love and connection. Even when loss is part of the story. You could have pictured them quarrelling and resenting and abandoning each other. That is, from one point of view, just as “real.” (Once, I found a blog by a woman who had died, - I did not know her - and her last entry was about how she had stopped having contact with her siblings. Of course, I’m sure she had all sorts of justifications for this, to herself and others. But what a dreadful last impression to leave. Better the faded stone, by far.)
Nobody enjoys thinking about death, except maybe the very young who don’t believe it will happen to them. But I feel strangely fortified after reading your essay. Thank you!
Thank you for reading Síochána and leaving such a beautiful reflection here (:
This is ✨amazing✨ and further solidified my plan to visit my nearest cemetery.🫡