Love is lying next to you on the hardwood floor all night, knowing it will be your last, trying to protect you against another seizure as the bamboo woodchime goes crazy in the wind.
Love is you climbing into your brother’s crib as he cries after I put him there in order to have a phone meeting.
Love is sitting on your sofa watching the crows, waiting for the groundhog you’re feeding in your shed, rubbing your hand, and wondering aloud what animal you’ll be after you die.
Love is crossing the Columbia River, you driving across country with me and knowing this expanse is what you need to cross to let me go.
Love is listening to Johnny Cash again and answering your questions about the date and the time – again.
Love is waking for 6 am practice and driving to pick up my best friends, then decades later waiting outside a freezing pool at 9 pm on a weeknight, knowing we need to come home and get your homework done as you dissolve into tears.
Love is you running at me full force at the backyard gate before I can even put my suitcase down, melding your body to mine with all your force.
Love is you showing up at my door, climbing into my bed, and crying out the loss of first love, letting me rub your back like you did when you were little.
Love is pushing you in your wheelchair in the Florida sunshine, holding up clothes – so many tan turtlenecks – and making you a blanket.
Love is you meeting me in Chicago while I fall apart, my heart yanked out and you there, patient and present, willing to travel miles.
Love is “I hurt” and “I’m there.”
Love is your soft fur pressed against me and your legs lifting in the morning light as you roll over for a belly rub.
Love is the way you brushed and braided my hair.
Love is walking load after load of your stuff up to your fourth-floor room, rearranging the furniture, and watching you delight in hanging posters full of anticipation.
Love is hurrying ahead on the church in Paris so that I could turn and watch your face take in the room.
Love is walking out of the hospital to see you experiencing the profundity of the moment, well beyond your 4 years.
Love is feeling frustrated by the same behaviors I admire in you, all the time, all at once.
Love is those desperate eyes coming at me at the end of the day, arms out stretched, for a run and hug.
Love is the way your eyes tear up when you see me reliving old pain.
Love is overhearing you tell our daughter, "I think I'm in love with you"...all the time.
Love is staying at the airport drinking wine with me during my layover, at your home airport, even though we've both just been on a too-long transcontinental flight.
Love is granting me that solo trip knowing how hard it would be on you.
Love is knowing that Courtney's gift with words and enormous heart will come every Wednesday to my in box and lift my soul.
Love is ignoring a budget to say YES to be with those who will soon leave us.
Love is adoring my daughter and also respecting her own way of designing her life.
Love is believing that care taking across borders is just as real, essential, and good for me as loving in close physical proximity
Love is believing there are so many more narratives to our hearts dilemmas than the high numbers of media posts, news and influencer feeds.
Love is remembering the guides who have left this world while holding my heart, as uttering their names will high jack my brain out of the day's necessities. It is compartmentalizing with the deep knowledge that I will return to my open heart with endless mercy.
Love is showing up, losing a nigh of sleep when yet another tragedy struck, knowing that someone will also show up for me.
Oh Courtney I just love this. Thank you for sharing.
Love is one hundred days of traveling back and forth to hold the tiny weight of you in the hospital recliner until you were big enough to come home with me.
Love is the little things you do every day to give our daughters a better childhood than you had.
Love is the long distance texts and photos of the everyday mundane. I am the one you want to share with. You are the one I want to share with.
Love is a framed note in blue crayon: “You’re as big as a rock.”
Love is you running in on tiptoe to skip that one song on the nap album so the baby doesn’t wake up too soon.
Love is the sweaters you knitted wrapping me in your warmth.
Love is always picking back up right where we left off, no matter how long it’s been.
Love is swelling with sisterly pride as I watch you bloom in motherhood.
Love is your grandmother and your daughter holding hands.
Love is an annual game of Hearts where we get distracted by little hands, laugh often, and may or may not get the instructions right.
So cool. Go Stella! I am sending mini 3-stanza “love is” poems to different people in my life. To my college girlfriends - spread far and wide - I shared yours and then this trio:
Love is a box of cookies waiting in the hallway with friends and a recipe across oceans.
Love is texts about perimenopause and tape over mouths while sleeping.
Love is sneaking moments of long distance connection amidst full local lives.
Love is her asking you to say the our father with her the way you say it before her first (of 2) brain craniotomies, and her helping you find absolute surrender, and sobriety when you were face down.
Love is also reading TEF. :) You are the best. writer. ever.
This post caught me off guard and brought me to tears, the good kind, after a long day of teaching. My heart overflowing with the enormity of all we each hold, on our own and collectively, and the love that exists and persists and continues, in spite of it all. This post and the comments are a gift. Thank you. ❤️
The whole piece is beautiful. But this one stuck out -
“Love is grief—sometimes sharp and acute, sometimes as long as life is and beyond.”
…because we are in somewhat similar life stages: a parent with dementia for the last 6 years most notably but also the 2 children, partner and many things that make our hearts love and grieve.
Love is lying next to you on the hardwood floor all night, knowing it will be your last, trying to protect you against another seizure as the bamboo woodchime goes crazy in the wind.
Love is you climbing into your brother’s crib as he cries after I put him there in order to have a phone meeting.
Love is sitting on your sofa watching the crows, waiting for the groundhog you’re feeding in your shed, rubbing your hand, and wondering aloud what animal you’ll be after you die.
Love is crossing the Columbia River, you driving across country with me and knowing this expanse is what you need to cross to let me go.
Love is listening to Johnny Cash again and answering your questions about the date and the time – again.
Love is waking for 6 am practice and driving to pick up my best friends, then decades later waiting outside a freezing pool at 9 pm on a weeknight, knowing we need to come home and get your homework done as you dissolve into tears.
Love is you running at me full force at the backyard gate before I can even put my suitcase down, melding your body to mine with all your force.
Love is you showing up at my door, climbing into my bed, and crying out the loss of first love, letting me rub your back like you did when you were little.
Love is pushing you in your wheelchair in the Florida sunshine, holding up clothes – so many tan turtlenecks – and making you a blanket.
Love is you meeting me in Chicago while I fall apart, my heart yanked out and you there, patient and present, willing to travel miles.
Love is “I hurt” and “I’m there.”
Love is your soft fur pressed against me and your legs lifting in the morning light as you roll over for a belly rub.
Love is the way you brushed and braided my hair.
Love is walking load after load of your stuff up to your fourth-floor room, rearranging the furniture, and watching you delight in hanging posters full of anticipation.
Love is hurrying ahead on the church in Paris so that I could turn and watch your face take in the room.
Oh my gosh this made my cry, Jennifer. Just so so gorgeous. There is so much here - each one like a short story I now want to read.
Thank you for the invitation, Courtney. My heart needed this today.
Love is walking out of the hospital to see you experiencing the profundity of the moment, well beyond your 4 years.
Love is feeling frustrated by the same behaviors I admire in you, all the time, all at once.
Love is those desperate eyes coming at me at the end of the day, arms out stretched, for a run and hug.
Love is the way your eyes tear up when you see me reliving old pain.
Love is overhearing you tell our daughter, "I think I'm in love with you"...all the time.
Love is staying at the airport drinking wine with me during my layover, at your home airport, even though we've both just been on a too-long transcontinental flight.
Love is granting me that solo trip knowing how hard it would be on you.
Really feeling these. So beautiful and poignant. Thank you.
“Love is feeling frustrated by the same behaviors I admire in you, all the time, all at once.” — I feel this so deeply
Love is knowing that Courtney's gift with words and enormous heart will come every Wednesday to my in box and lift my soul.
Love is ignoring a budget to say YES to be with those who will soon leave us.
Love is adoring my daughter and also respecting her own way of designing her life.
Love is believing that care taking across borders is just as real, essential, and good for me as loving in close physical proximity
Love is believing there are so many more narratives to our hearts dilemmas than the high numbers of media posts, news and influencer feeds.
Love is remembering the guides who have left this world while holding my heart, as uttering their names will high jack my brain out of the day's necessities. It is compartmentalizing with the deep knowledge that I will return to my open heart with endless mercy.
Love is showing up, losing a nigh of sleep when yet another tragedy struck, knowing that someone will also show up for me.
Ah, the wisdom of my Selena. This made me so happy and heartful. Thank you for all the ways you've loved me over the years.
Happy Valentine’s Day everyone! Love is rereading Courtney’s columns and being inspired by new ideas! DD
Love is sitting on the couch with a warm dog draped across your shoulders, you buttressing her as she buttresses you.
Oh Courtney I just love this. Thank you for sharing.
Love is one hundred days of traveling back and forth to hold the tiny weight of you in the hospital recliner until you were big enough to come home with me.
Love is the little things you do every day to give our daughters a better childhood than you had.
Love is the long distance texts and photos of the everyday mundane. I am the one you want to share with. You are the one I want to share with.
Love is a framed note in blue crayon: “You’re as big as a rock.”
Love is you running in on tiptoe to skip that one song on the nap album so the baby doesn’t wake up too soon.
Love is the sweaters you knitted wrapping me in your warmth.
Love is always picking back up right where we left off, no matter how long it’s been.
Love is swelling with sisterly pride as I watch you bloom in motherhood.
Love is your grandmother and your daughter holding hands.
Love is an annual game of Hearts where we get distracted by little hands, laugh often, and may or may not get the instructions right.
Perfection. Relate to so many of these.
So cool. Go Stella! I am sending mini 3-stanza “love is” poems to different people in my life. To my college girlfriends - spread far and wide - I shared yours and then this trio:
Love is a box of cookies waiting in the hallway with friends and a recipe across oceans.
Love is texts about perimenopause and tape over mouths while sleeping.
Love is sneaking moments of long distance connection amidst full local lives.
❤️
https://open.substack.com/pub/courtney/p/love-is?r=1ji450&utm_medium=ios&utm_campaign=post
Love that! Spread the love.
Just love!
Love is her asking you to say the our father with her the way you say it before her first (of 2) brain craniotomies, and her helping you find absolute surrender, and sobriety when you were face down.
Love is also reading TEF. :) You are the best. writer. ever.
This post caught me off guard and brought me to tears, the good kind, after a long day of teaching. My heart overflowing with the enormity of all we each hold, on our own and collectively, and the love that exists and persists and continues, in spite of it all. This post and the comments are a gift. Thank you. ❤️
Thank you for being a teacher! You pour love into so many.
Beautiful!
Love is this newsletter. What a beautiful format. Thank you for sharing.
The whole piece is beautiful. But this one stuck out -
“Love is grief—sometimes sharp and acute, sometimes as long as life is and beyond.”
…because we are in somewhat similar life stages: a parent with dementia for the last 6 years most notably but also the 2 children, partner and many things that make our hearts love and grieve.
Oh man, sending you big solidarity love Vanessa.
Love Is
Through our past
From our bodies
In every cell, even the ones that betray
Sensing a foundation
Unable to imagine the future
Getting carried away
Getting pushed aside, not minding
Sensing nothing is ever really lost
Sensing weird ways to celebrate
Taking for granted
Taking meds
Going at our own pace
Giving up to get something else
Savoring like she did
Realizing that could never happen again
Repairing
Crying smiling
Closing eyes
Holding on
Knowing for sure
Knowing nothing
Fighting like hell
Letting go
Beautiful