I cannot express how your letter spoke to me and comforted me today. I recently moved 96 year old mum into a small, family-home style nursing home in Barbados. For the past 5 years my mum has been cared for in our family home by three auxiliary nurses - angels of mercy and love. When we had to sell our home to continue to pay for Mum’s care, those angels went with her to continue the 24 hour care Mum needs. A week after the move which went well, Mum appears to have had a stroke. She may not live much longer.
Your words about care, about the sacredness of it and its ephemeral nature struck deeply. Although the actual care my mum received could be seen as ephemeral, the effects / impacts on her life and mine will be long lasting- I am indescribable ly grateful to the three women who loved my mum, laughed with my mum, supported one another in times of stress, and welcomed me into their lives as a sister. I learned so much from them about the things that truly matter in life. I love them and they me in return.
Their salary is abominable- I wish I could give them 5 times what they make an hour. Instead, whenever I could I have them extra cash.
They called me each night and day when I was in my home in Canada and not with mum so I could video- chat with Mum, and talk with them.
When I was there just recently for the house sale and move to the nursing home, we hugged daily and shared blessed sacred moments of care for Mum. I
Waiting here now in Canada for the next stage in Mum’s life, I treasure those gifts of care- for me and for Mum. I am newly aware of all those small moments- as you so beautifully put it- in our day to day lives.
I went through slides I brought back that my Fad took long ago - of my early years with my parents, and later years growing up. The visual scenes of care are there. As they are in the hundreds of photos I have of similar moments with my three children.
Instead of mourning the fleeting nature of those moments, however, I vow to hold the knowledge close that I had them, and that their effects resonate through the years, enriching my life and the lives of my children.
Nothing is lost- just transformed in beautiful ways.
Thank you as always for mysteriously writing just what I need when I need it.
The vignette about hair brushing, and how you remember it from your youth, brought back to me the daily hair brushing administered quite differently to my very long hair. In my case I had to be the one to learn for myself how to place my hands to reduce the pain of it. And that understanding helped me brush and comb my daughters' hair.
I don't think that those who received loving care as children are necessarily more likely to stand up for public policy and institutions that support care-taking. It could well be the opposite. Sometimes it is those who never had these things who are most motivated to advocate for institutions that support the care they missed in their own lives.
This is beautiful, Courtney, and touches on a truth that few can see, let alone articulate as well as you. My Dad was a prime care-giver in my young life. A few days after he died in Jan. of 1994, I went to the dry cleaners to hand in a ticket I’d found on his dresser. Behind the counter were two women, both in their sixties, both with faces that bore the marks of a careworn life. As they handed his suit to me, one of them said, “You must be Mr. Palmer’s son, you look so much like him.” Then the other one said, “Your Dad was a wonderful man. Every time he came into our shop, he said something that made us feel good, that lightened our load. We’re going to miss him so much.” If Google hits are a mark of greatness, my Dad was not a great man. But in the real world of human-to-human, he had a greatness built on a million-million acts of care, kindness, and generosity. You’re right that acts of that sort mostly disappear, except that they are also eternal. So they are there to be seen if we look at the world thru eyes of compassion keen enough to pick up what really matters. Thank you for letting us see thru your eyes…
Whew. This, over and over again. We know the shame that people can feel about their intimate desires; the desire to have been better cared for falls under that as well, and we are living in the fallout of that shame.
What a beautiful essay. It really spoke to me and opened my eyes to the impact of care and all the little and not so little ways it influence us. I parent very differently than I was parented and recently saw my 17 year old daughter through a tough time. I was amazed at how she stood up for herself and recognized her worth and never wavered from knowing what she deserved. All of this in a very caring but confident way. I thought back to my 17 year old self and how differently I would have handled it. The difference being that she knows that she is loved unconditionally, that she will always have a soft place to land and that her worth in our eyes is not tied to grades, her looks, the points she put up at the last basketball game etc. I used to think that you had to go through tough times to be resilient... I just recently realized that you can be resilient just by knowing that you are loved and cared for no matter what
I love this so much. When my son graduated from high school, I was totally outraged when the principal in his speech said that of the 600 members of Tim's too-large class, 450 had won awards. I wrote him a letter (refraining from calling him a simple jackass) saying that the awards ratio showed that his uber-competitive school never had an award for kindness, which is what makes the Earth turn, and which my son had more than anyone I knew. Call it my mama-bear reaction, but I was pissed! Kindness, like care, goes unmentioned, even unnoticed, but both are like gazing into the sun.
This vital essay conveys with uncommon eloquence Courtney’s spirit of connection with her parents, Ron and Jere. In this brief message we’re given a profoundly inspirational tribute to their embodiment of what philosophy calls the Ethic of Care.
The photo of Ron recalls those occasions when I had the pleasure of meeting him: the wonderful conversations that we had when he came to my Barnard classes, attended the Columbia Convocation in 2002, at their home in Aspen.
We haven’t seen each other in years but his gentle imprint of parental devotion is a model that remains indelible so I’m grateful to have it invoked now. Thanks! DD
You’ve put something into words that I feels so deeply - that gratitude to my Mum for the gift of care that lives in me and continues to pulse through ❤️
You honour your mom and dad with your writings, Courtney, and most certainly reflect, as you said, the sum total of the absorption of the care they gave you. And now you pass that on to us your readers, among others.
Similarly to you, as I walk around in this 70 year old body, I feel the eternal nature of my mother’s care and her loving spirit influencing how I walk this earth and interact with others, and in turn, am learning to trust that I have passed the same on to my children.
I told my mum words to that effect when I visited with her.
Thank you for putting all of this into such articulate expression, it rings so true from both the giving and receiving of care. From one daily hairbrusher to another, from one well-cared for daughter to another 💙
Sometimes soulful writing takes me down into a place of no-words, no way to articulate what it means to me, just a heart full of Yes. Thank you for this work today. 💗
I cannot express how your letter spoke to me and comforted me today. I recently moved 96 year old mum into a small, family-home style nursing home in Barbados. For the past 5 years my mum has been cared for in our family home by three auxiliary nurses - angels of mercy and love. When we had to sell our home to continue to pay for Mum’s care, those angels went with her to continue the 24 hour care Mum needs. A week after the move which went well, Mum appears to have had a stroke. She may not live much longer.
Your words about care, about the sacredness of it and its ephemeral nature struck deeply. Although the actual care my mum received could be seen as ephemeral, the effects / impacts on her life and mine will be long lasting- I am indescribable ly grateful to the three women who loved my mum, laughed with my mum, supported one another in times of stress, and welcomed me into their lives as a sister. I learned so much from them about the things that truly matter in life. I love them and they me in return.
Their salary is abominable- I wish I could give them 5 times what they make an hour. Instead, whenever I could I have them extra cash.
They called me each night and day when I was in my home in Canada and not with mum so I could video- chat with Mum, and talk with them.
When I was there just recently for the house sale and move to the nursing home, we hugged daily and shared blessed sacred moments of care for Mum. I
Waiting here now in Canada for the next stage in Mum’s life, I treasure those gifts of care- for me and for Mum. I am newly aware of all those small moments- as you so beautifully put it- in our day to day lives.
I went through slides I brought back that my Fad took long ago - of my early years with my parents, and later years growing up. The visual scenes of care are there. As they are in the hundreds of photos I have of similar moments with my three children.
Instead of mourning the fleeting nature of those moments, however, I vow to hold the knowledge close that I had them, and that their effects resonate through the years, enriching my life and the lives of my children.
Nothing is lost- just transformed in beautiful ways.
Thank you as always for mysteriously writing just what I need when I need it.
❤️
The vignette about hair brushing, and how you remember it from your youth, brought back to me the daily hair brushing administered quite differently to my very long hair. In my case I had to be the one to learn for myself how to place my hands to reduce the pain of it. And that understanding helped me brush and comb my daughters' hair.
I don't think that those who received loving care as children are necessarily more likely to stand up for public policy and institutions that support care-taking. It could well be the opposite. Sometimes it is those who never had these things who are most motivated to advocate for institutions that support the care they missed in their own lives.
This is beautiful, Courtney, and touches on a truth that few can see, let alone articulate as well as you. My Dad was a prime care-giver in my young life. A few days after he died in Jan. of 1994, I went to the dry cleaners to hand in a ticket I’d found on his dresser. Behind the counter were two women, both in their sixties, both with faces that bore the marks of a careworn life. As they handed his suit to me, one of them said, “You must be Mr. Palmer’s son, you look so much like him.” Then the other one said, “Your Dad was a wonderful man. Every time he came into our shop, he said something that made us feel good, that lightened our load. We’re going to miss him so much.” If Google hits are a mark of greatness, my Dad was not a great man. But in the real world of human-to-human, he had a greatness built on a million-million acts of care, kindness, and generosity. You’re right that acts of that sort mostly disappear, except that they are also eternal. So they are there to be seen if we look at the world thru eyes of compassion keen enough to pick up what really matters. Thank you for letting us see thru your eyes…
Whew. This, over and over again. We know the shame that people can feel about their intimate desires; the desire to have been better cared for falls under that as well, and we are living in the fallout of that shame.
What a beautiful essay. It really spoke to me and opened my eyes to the impact of care and all the little and not so little ways it influence us. I parent very differently than I was parented and recently saw my 17 year old daughter through a tough time. I was amazed at how she stood up for herself and recognized her worth and never wavered from knowing what she deserved. All of this in a very caring but confident way. I thought back to my 17 year old self and how differently I would have handled it. The difference being that she knows that she is loved unconditionally, that she will always have a soft place to land and that her worth in our eyes is not tied to grades, her looks, the points she put up at the last basketball game etc. I used to think that you had to go through tough times to be resilient... I just recently realized that you can be resilient just by knowing that you are loved and cared for no matter what
I love this so much. When my son graduated from high school, I was totally outraged when the principal in his speech said that of the 600 members of Tim's too-large class, 450 had won awards. I wrote him a letter (refraining from calling him a simple jackass) saying that the awards ratio showed that his uber-competitive school never had an award for kindness, which is what makes the Earth turn, and which my son had more than anyone I knew. Call it my mama-bear reaction, but I was pissed! Kindness, like care, goes unmentioned, even unnoticed, but both are like gazing into the sun.
This vital essay conveys with uncommon eloquence Courtney’s spirit of connection with her parents, Ron and Jere. In this brief message we’re given a profoundly inspirational tribute to their embodiment of what philosophy calls the Ethic of Care.
The photo of Ron recalls those occasions when I had the pleasure of meeting him: the wonderful conversations that we had when he came to my Barnard classes, attended the Columbia Convocation in 2002, at their home in Aspen.
We haven’t seen each other in years but his gentle imprint of parental devotion is a model that remains indelible so I’m grateful to have it invoked now. Thanks! DD
You’ve put something into words that I feels so deeply - that gratitude to my Mum for the gift of care that lives in me and continues to pulse through ❤️
Gorgeous writing. I felt so soothed as I read it, as if you were combing out my tangled hair. Thank you.
As a longtime member of the ‘Postrophe Posse, I am here to tell you one isn’t needed telling us about the beautiful Andy Goldsworthy mandalas. 😊
You honour your mom and dad with your writings, Courtney, and most certainly reflect, as you said, the sum total of the absorption of the care they gave you. And now you pass that on to us your readers, among others.
Similarly to you, as I walk around in this 70 year old body, I feel the eternal nature of my mother’s care and her loving spirit influencing how I walk this earth and interact with others, and in turn, am learning to trust that I have passed the same on to my children.
I told my mum words to that effect when I visited with her.
Thank you once again.
Thank you for holding us in your heart today. . I passed your blog post along to our caregivers and their nursing supervisors.
Thank you for putting all of this into such articulate expression, it rings so true from both the giving and receiving of care. From one daily hairbrusher to another, from one well-cared for daughter to another 💙
Thank you so much. Thank you thank you.
This is a well said letter. Thank you for putting into words the invisible but achingly beautiful "art of care"
Sometimes soulful writing takes me down into a place of no-words, no way to articulate what it means to me, just a heart full of Yes. Thank you for this work today. 💗