It’s not yet noon, or we’d be eating the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that my mother has packed. Not exactly beach food, but I don’t know that because I’m four, and have yet to form opinions about what to eat where. At the moment, I’m focused on finding more shells than Steven Berg, who clutches a plastic bag just like mine. We walk near the ocean, staying in front of our blanket, as we’ve been told. Heads down, eyes darting madly, we lunge at every speck of white that pokes up through the speckled beige sand.
Oh Debra! Just beautiful. Sending love and caring thoughts to you and your family. Of one thing I’m completely certain: you are your mother’s daughter.
Oh oh oh you have transported me back to Lake Ripley trips with my mom, Felice Freeman Lenz and bestie Penny Markgraff, the blue Chevy wagon loaded with kids and inflatables, the picnic lunch and waiting an hour before jumping back into the drink, the Fried’s and the Bergs were on a beach blanket somewhere nearby, I am sure. I love your mom, her technicolor swimsuit, the smell of salt and zinc and gel, your sweet little four year old panic, the joyful rescue. I miss you, I miss your mom, I miss mine, too. For all the feels all the time, thank you dearest Debbie for sharing your writing gift with us.
Tess. I remember when you were in this space with Rita. You were so there with her and I could feel your pain and love for her in your words in all the time. Thank you for saying such incredible things - especially today - nothing could have touched me more. Happy Mother's Day, my dear friend. I love you right back.
I’m reading this.. right now.. on the dawn of not just any day….Mother’s Day.
This has to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read. I feel every single moment of it.. right down to the space between. The lost. You.. my love are a beautiful writer.. a beautiful friend… and a beautiful daughter. Stay in this space with her. I love you so much. 🩵
Well you really need to send this to The New Yorker. Or The New York Times. And do it now.
The perfect capture of that unforgettable existential panic as a tiny child totally lost and vulnerable. Of your whole world gone, eclipsed. The feeling of seeing your mother again — and therefore the whole and only world you know, reappear.
And then the process at the end. Of wanting to sit next to and just breathe with your mother — to hold onto that world - until she decides — no more.
Capturing all the right things, as usual. Thank you for bringing grandma and grandpa to life in your stories. Nostalgia at its best.
Oh Debra! Just beautiful. Sending love and caring thoughts to you and your family. Of one thing I’m completely certain: you are your mother’s daughter.
George said it best: “A lifetime of love in 500 words.”
Up to the sky. xoxox
Just wow.
A lifetime of love in 500 words.
A whirlwind of emotions and memories as we watch our dear mother fight for life at the end. So beautifully written. Thank you, Deb.
Simply beautiful.
Oh oh oh you have transported me back to Lake Ripley trips with my mom, Felice Freeman Lenz and bestie Penny Markgraff, the blue Chevy wagon loaded with kids and inflatables, the picnic lunch and waiting an hour before jumping back into the drink, the Fried’s and the Bergs were on a beach blanket somewhere nearby, I am sure. I love your mom, her technicolor swimsuit, the smell of salt and zinc and gel, your sweet little four year old panic, the joyful rescue. I miss you, I miss your mom, I miss mine, too. For all the feels all the time, thank you dearest Debbie for sharing your writing gift with us.
So so beautiful.
This vignette speaks volumes about love and loss. Thank you.
with tears…..so beautiful….such love…
Wow. Just…wow.
Beautifully told.
Tess. I remember when you were in this space with Rita. You were so there with her and I could feel your pain and love for her in your words in all the time. Thank you for saying such incredible things - especially today - nothing could have touched me more. Happy Mother's Day, my dear friend. I love you right back.
I’m reading this.. right now.. on the dawn of not just any day….Mother’s Day.
This has to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read. I feel every single moment of it.. right down to the space between. The lost. You.. my love are a beautiful writer.. a beautiful friend… and a beautiful daughter. Stay in this space with her. I love you so much. 🩵
Well you really need to send this to The New Yorker. Or The New York Times. And do it now.
The perfect capture of that unforgettable existential panic as a tiny child totally lost and vulnerable. Of your whole world gone, eclipsed. The feeling of seeing your mother again — and therefore the whole and only world you know, reappear.
And then the process at the end. Of wanting to sit next to and just breathe with your mother — to hold onto that world - until she decides — no more.