Thoughts and Prayers

A good friend of mine and his family lost their matriarch yesterday, and as I sat on the phone, listening to his mother say the words and describe the scene I was taken back to 2010, when my Arizona mother passed, and my sister was saying those words, and describing that scene. Today I struggled to say anything meaningful, and I thought back to then. In the month between receiving that call, and joining my family to intern my second mother’s ashes we received many sentiments from friends, extended family members and acquaintances. Thoughts and Prayers were the sum of them all.  These sentiments are, at the core- an expression of love by those who send them, and all involved try to remember that.  But these words (and even actions) are hollow and empty to the grief stricken, because everything in your life is tainted by experiencing the moment or getting the call that a soul has escaped the Earth, and you remain. All your thoughts, and all your prayers are meaningless when I walk barefoot through crunchy grass and want to burst into tears (we were visiting friends for the weekend and I took the call in their dead backyard- so as not to disturb the raucous of breakfast making).  Like I said, I try to remember when people say these things, they are trying to be loving and supportive, and in many ways attempting to producing some line between “that sucks for you” and **crying** themselves.  But it’s what we say, right.

Your family is in my thoughts and prayers.

because we have nothing else to say.  And so today I sat quietly, and let this freshly grieving woman speak.  And I leave my computer logged on, for the friend who lives halfway around the world who has just lost his grandmother, so if he needs to talk, he can. My thoughts and prayers are with this family, and they know that- we’ve been together nearly a decade, and I think and pray for them often.  So today I say “I’m here.”

Loves,  Mae


Inspired: Foolish Oats goes Home

Recently I found Foolish Oats on YouTube randomly.  It was her black and white video montage paired with delicately read insights that let me get lost in the words and images and the false nostalgia for a different, quieter, more intelligent life.  I find myself transfixed, and usually end up having to watch episode twice or three times before I can internalize it.

There was something in particular about this one, I was surrounded by others in the company break room, and utter enthralled.  And so I wrote.

Don’t feel pressured to read it- it’s just a little pen to paper, but here it is, just in case you are interested.


It’s easy to pretend to live, in this quiet city life, when hustle and bustle surround you and you can exist alone.  It is east to live that way.  No friends, no family, just an eclectic gathering of acquaintances and regular strangers- co-workers, baristas, the fluffy dog that walked at the same time she ran.

It is easy to pretend in the city.

But then it is different here, in the borrowed mother’s mini-van where childhood overwhelms the sense of familiarity.  This place, a place no longer belonged to- where from I embarked on the road trudging away from these people in these areas.

But I am here, returning here, for duty, and truth, and the lost nostalgia which has plowed the road for me.  He- here with me, old friend, old man now, everything we though he’d be, driving the future we knew he’d have.  Two sons, names I don’t know, hockey playing growers like we used to be.  And this map I’ve wrestled a thousand times, find our way to a place we once knew.  This city of past of presents.  Fear, loathing, and home.

Here to bring one more son.