Writings shared by
Mazal Yakubor,
member of
The Mending Word
6 Part Series
To My Younger Self,
For now you are a stranger to loss and forgiveness. Whereas I've come to tell you that death has knocked on our door more than once. It has made you a prisoner to its grief and surrounded your heart in pain. Although it will hold you in its grasp, don't fight it. Acknowledge the pain, remember the memories, and give yourself time to heal. Catch yourself when you begin to fall and lean on those dear to you for support. It doesn't make you weak to ask for help. Remember to cry, scream, laugh, love, and don't shut yourself away. Be honest with others on how you're honestly doing and check in on those close to you.
Times as hard as these will either break your spirit or lift you up. But for me it did both. I lost myself in the pain for so long until I had to rediscover who I was without him. For a while, I ignored the fact that he was gone, but it did me more harm than good. Talk about him, write, look at pictures, listen to old messages and remember to never lose your sparkle.
You'll soon learn that life will teach you many lessons and most of all it will teach you compassion and companionship. New friendships will be made and others will drift apart. You'll learn to open up and talk about things important to you. You'll smile again someday and their memory won't be a stab to the heart. Instead, those feelings will turn to joyful occasions that you'll look back towards for wisdom.
It will surprise you how many people came to your aid and lent a hand: person 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, and so many more. Others will turn their backs but we forgive them since how could they know better. Death is no longer a taboo concept and is no longer feared. It will make you resilient to achieve your ambitions and dreams.
Who would've thought we'd go so far?! Your relationship with Mom has gotten closer and your patience has increased. Health in mind, body, and soul has become your mindset in life. Boundaries, healthy boundaries, have been set which has made you more thoughtful in considering other people's feelings.
You are on the right path to success. Dad is holding your hand throughout your journey. Speak to him on the good days and weep on the difficult ones. Although one's presence cannot be seen doesn't mean they cannot hear you.
Go after the things you want in life. Make that trip, move to that country, take risks and push yourself out of your comfort zone. Life is too short to let moments pass on by.
Yours Truly,
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Writings shared by
Zipporah Thaler,
member of
The Mending Word
10 Part Series
You are frozen now.
Standing beneath jets of
Warm water streaming down your back
Hot prickling against your face
Not feeling, only frozen.
Your body freezes in time
But moves through the motions.
Shower.
Pack
Mascara
Shoes
Travel
Walk
Wait
Eat
Sleep
Talk
Make arrangements for the kids
Print pictures
Cry
Hug friends
Frozen
Frozen through the hurt
Frozen through the hell
Frozen through the hot walks
In fields of graves
on melting pavements
in the sweltering sun.
frozen through the pain
frozen through the tears
frozen and numb.
Frozen for a year
Until the next summer sun.
And then things start to sift and slightly thaw,
Upon realizing this is real
He is in fact gone
Hell, it’s been a whole year.
You’ll feel your upper lip wet
Your chin tremble
Throbbing at your temples.
Sweat gather in your armpits
Your heart start to speed
Jumping, stuttering
Trying to catch up from a year of being frozen.
And the pain is searing sharp
And you will want to cry and scream
And sometimes you will
And sometimes you’re frozen.
Friends will come
Some will go
Old ones show up
Some are too slow.
Some people mean well
Others say mean things.
His face will pop up
During the day and in your dreams.
You’ll feel lots of feels
You’ll try to unfeel and freeze
Sometimes you will
And it will hurt to breathe.
You will try to pick up the pieces
Of your heart and the phone you held in your hand
But there are too many
You’re still trying
But you’ve been shattered
They’ve been scattered.
You’ll need to go back
To the first frozen year
And slowly chisel chunks of
Hurt, loss and despair.
Zipporah R Thaler 02/08/23
Writings shared by Andrina, member of
The Mending Word
10 Part Series
A Guide, A Reminder
You need to take more pictures
You carry that device everywhere
And for what
Get her in front of the camera
Because one day you’ll run out
One day you’ll collect all the moments she was captured
There’ll be no more images to discover
And then she’ll really be gone
You need to calm down
You will grieve hard
But you don’t need to ruin Christmas with all your screaming
Others will grieve differently than you
You need to let them
You need to stand up for yourself
No one else will
Or they won’t know how
Not like you can
People will tell you to get out of your grief bubble when you’re not ready
Stand your ground
You don’t need to prove yourself
You can take more time off work
It won’t make you a failure
You don’t need to lie
Tell them when your heart can’t take it
Tell them you just don’t fucking want to go
You’re too busy wrapping your arms around your body so you’re insides don’t fall
out
You’re too busy taking hot baths to slow down your heartbeat
Your heart will keep breaking
As some who you hoped to cling to will disappoint you
Your heart will be a cistern for all the tears you’re too afraid to let fall
Let them fall
Brace yourself
Every drop that hits the floor will turn into a tidal wave
But look to your left
Your husband – your heart
Look to your right
Your brother, your father – your home
Look behind you
Your cousins and closest friends – your spirit
Look in front of you
Your grandmothers, your tias
They will guide you from this day forward
These are the ones that will never let you drown.
Writings shared by Faigy,
member of
The Mending Word
10 Part Series
I want you to know that there is a sweetness to the pain, and peace to the chaos.
That even hell could be light, and sometimes this emptiness is full.
I want you to know that she misses you just like you miss her, and that she counts all your tears.
I want you to know that you will learn to dance to the rhythm of grief, and that your pain will become your new love language
Dying doesn't mean she flicked out of existence, it just means you have to find her in the dark.
Most importantly, I want you to know that you will learn to live, love and be happy again, not because you have moved on, but because you have found a way to take her with you. Know that your existence carries her, and she probably feels that.
Life isn't black and white and you'll learn to dance to the grey, to live and love in a contradictory space.
People out there really care, you just have to let yourself feel that, because it's impossible to carry it alone.
Know that although you can't hear her, she's cheering you on from up there, and somewhere, somehow her heart aches for you too.
Writings shared by Michal,
member of
The Mending Word
10 Part Series
Dear 22 year old me,
You will lose your mother on March 9, 2020 to cancer. I know, it seems impossible, like it could never happen. And it will never stop feeling impossible. It will continue to be a bad movie that you just can’t pause. And, this is gonna be hard to say, but it will get worse. You’ll lose your dad soon, quickly after. Even your home.
I know again impossible right?
But no. Reality. It’s gonna be really shitty. The whole world is gonna be thrown into a pandemic and nothing will be the same. But let me tell you what else is going to happen.
2 or 3 or maybe 4 hours after your mother dies, and her body is taken out of the house, you will eat chinese with your family at the table and be cracking up and laughing at something I can’t remember. I know impossible right? But no.
You’ll wake up the next day in your room wishing it was a bad dream, there will be small instants right before you wake up that you will actually forget your reality, for just a millisecond. These moments will be like fresh stabs to your chest every time. All these things will happen.
But you know what else will?
You will graduate the next year with a 4.0, never missing a single class. You will accomplish in that time probably more than you accomplished in your whole life before then. You’ll take care of the family estate matters, you’ll constantly discuss your fathers wishes with him, you’ll make plans that you’ll execute, you’ll get your first apartment, you’ll start a blog, and a writing group - and you’ll follow through with it, and have people join, and meet new amazing people along the way, and you’ll discover how much writing means to you and the power of words. You’ll discover a love for camping and nature. You’ll have the most amazing quality of people constantly by your side and you’ll be closer to your siblings than you ever thought you could be. You will go through trauma - and you will remain “unplugged” for the next two years - everything will be a little grey, you’ll observe from a distance as every day brings you a day further from your loss - but the ache - it won’t go away. But you will start to learn to accept it. Not to throw it away or bury it deep but to guard it, and express it, and use that ache to connect with others who aches inside of them too. Every single day will be a challenge. And you’ll constantly have to choose what you want to do with that day. It will be hard, to lean into the grief, the numbness - because it’s uncomfortable and you’ll want to fight it.
But don’t. You’re strong, but don’t be strong - give yourself a break, permission to break. Because trust me. You will have people there to help you. I know you only want to count on yourself. But I’m here, two years later, to tell you that you don’t have to. Ask for help. Seek support. You don’t have to go through this alone. But also,
Hey. You’re doing great. You don’t give up. Every day you’ll be so anxious about every little stupid thing - but only because you won’t stop until you get it right - until you’re proud of yourself and your life, until you feel good inside and outside.
And I’m really f*cking proud of you.