Ryan, this was so beautiful. It made me cry. Thank you for sharing your brother’s story and all these great photos. He did indeed have goofy hair. So did my brother Donald. Little brothers, man. I wish we still had them. Big big hugs to you.
Brothers, man. My heart breaks anew when I hear about others who know this specific flavor of grief. I am hugging you right back. And I would love to see a picture of Donald’s hair sometime <3
Such a beautiful account of his diagnosis, treatment and love of life. Thank you, Ryan. Means more to me today especially. This is some of your most gorgeous, honest writing I’ve ever read. Also p.s. I also lived in affordable south slope for a hot second in 2008
Ali, thank you so much for this very high praise. I thought of you, and our group of caregivers, as I was pulling these passages together. Also, how wild that we were both in South Slope! It makes me think of the concept of in yeon — the red thread of destiny that connects us all, often in unusual and beautiful ways. https://ryanroseweaver.substack.com/p/the-red-thread-that-connects-us-all
Wow, this was such a beautiful and heart wrenching piece of writing. Thanks for sharing your story and Dave's.
And I completely agree that showing up through the scariness and confusion and not-knowing-what-to-do-ness of illness and death is so much more important than doing it RIGHT.
Corinne, I’m so honored that you took the time to read Dave’s story. And wow, the “not-knowing-what-to-do-ness”—what a great phrase. If it feels right to you, I’d love to hear more about what kinds of imperfect offerings have made a difference to you in these seasons — either something you gave, or something you received. I would imagine folks reading here who are struggling with the “not-knowing-what-to-do-ness” of their own situations would benefit from hearing more ideas and examples beyond my own here.
Such a good question. When my dad was dying I really remember everyone who sent something... whether it was something I liked or not! I feel kind of materialistic saying so, but it was really nice to receive books, flowers, letters, soap, other odds and ends. One of my friends just regifted random stuff he had around the house! I think receiving packages / gifts was a nice distraction, but also didn't require anything from me in the way that phone calls, texts, meeting up in person might. And also felt like an acknowledgement of the gravity of the situation. So now I try to send something!! Even if its small or just a note. Not always possible, but I do think it's a really nice thing to do.
Corinne, firstly, I'm so sorry to hear that you lost your dad. And, I really relate to what you're saying and don't think it's materialistic at all. In my experience, my senses are incredibly open -- almost painfully so -- in seasons of grief. And so the heft of a book, the smell of a flower or of soap...those everyday sensations can take on an almost sacred gravity. Digital communication just can't do that for us. So I think you're onto something. And I love that your friend whimsically re-gifted random things from around the house rather than send a generic "sorryforyourloss" text. What a great example of "something > nothing."
Ryan, what a gift to share this story with us. And a good reminder for the perfectionists among us (raises hand) that it is so much better to do *something* imperfectly than nothing at all. ❤️
Eleanor, this means so much to me. It makes me think of something my self-professed perfectionist friend Jessie has said before in seasons like this: “Being afraid of doing the wrong thing is its own form of care.” Which is so true. And, it also makes me think of Leonard Cohen: “Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” I can imagine you offering one of your beautiful textile artworks to someone as my brother’s friends offered their art, through the cracks in a deeply imperfect situation, and it being so much more than enough.
Thank you for sharing more of Dave and your experience in this season of life. And how it continues. What a force of adventure and love you continue to bring to this world
<3 <3 <3 Thank you, Sally. I wish you could have experienced the force of Dave’s sense of adventure and love, too. If I too bring that to the world it is probably because some of Dave’s force lives on in me now (and whew, my kiddo now too, in a very big way! As his many lost teeth and stitches can attest).
Ryan, this is such a beautiful piece about your brother, about loss, and what you've learned about yourself. I teared up. You really bring his spirit to life when you share your stories about him. And man...just do anything...bringing soup is something. That's also going to stick with me. (Although I'm definately a "food bearer" when the shit hits the fan.)
This is such a beautiful tribute to your brother, and a loving exploration of what it means to accompany someone through dying, and also our own grief. Thank you for the good effort you put into writing this, Ryan. It helped me reflect on the cancer journey and death of my dear friend four years ago, the ways in which I felt inadequate during that time. Reading your essay helped to normalize that feeling; it’s strangely comforting to know that most of us will feel that, because we live in a society that really doesn’t prepare us for this. As you say, there are no memes for this.
Maia, thank you for reading, and I’m so sorry to hear that you too have known this particular flavor of suffering — of watching a loved one move through cancer and death, and feeling that sense of inadequacy in the face of something so big and so hard. Writing about it rather than continuing to carry the weight of those feelings in private is a balm for me personally; it means so much to know that reading about it also offers comfort.
Rebecca, thank you for reading, and for your own writing. I’m so glad that there are so many of us who are trying to bring more awareness to the sacredness and the struggles that come with deeply caring for others. <3
Thank you so much for reading, Elissa. I so appreciate the way that you too continuously bring awareness to the fact that these individual experiences are universal, and that we need better, more caring collective responses to them.
Ryan, this was so beautiful. It made me cry. Thank you for sharing your brother’s story and all these great photos. He did indeed have goofy hair. So did my brother Donald. Little brothers, man. I wish we still had them. Big big hugs to you.
Brothers, man. My heart breaks anew when I hear about others who know this specific flavor of grief. I am hugging you right back. And I would love to see a picture of Donald’s hair sometime <3
Such a beautiful account of his diagnosis, treatment and love of life. Thank you, Ryan. Means more to me today especially. This is some of your most gorgeous, honest writing I’ve ever read. Also p.s. I also lived in affordable south slope for a hot second in 2008
Ali, thank you so much for this very high praise. I thought of you, and our group of caregivers, as I was pulling these passages together. Also, how wild that we were both in South Slope! It makes me think of the concept of in yeon — the red thread of destiny that connects us all, often in unusual and beautiful ways. https://ryanroseweaver.substack.com/p/the-red-thread-that-connects-us-all
Wow, this was such a beautiful and heart wrenching piece of writing. Thanks for sharing your story and Dave's.
And I completely agree that showing up through the scariness and confusion and not-knowing-what-to-do-ness of illness and death is so much more important than doing it RIGHT.
Corinne, I’m so honored that you took the time to read Dave’s story. And wow, the “not-knowing-what-to-do-ness”—what a great phrase. If it feels right to you, I’d love to hear more about what kinds of imperfect offerings have made a difference to you in these seasons — either something you gave, or something you received. I would imagine folks reading here who are struggling with the “not-knowing-what-to-do-ness” of their own situations would benefit from hearing more ideas and examples beyond my own here.
Such a good question. When my dad was dying I really remember everyone who sent something... whether it was something I liked or not! I feel kind of materialistic saying so, but it was really nice to receive books, flowers, letters, soap, other odds and ends. One of my friends just regifted random stuff he had around the house! I think receiving packages / gifts was a nice distraction, but also didn't require anything from me in the way that phone calls, texts, meeting up in person might. And also felt like an acknowledgement of the gravity of the situation. So now I try to send something!! Even if its small or just a note. Not always possible, but I do think it's a really nice thing to do.
Corinne, firstly, I'm so sorry to hear that you lost your dad. And, I really relate to what you're saying and don't think it's materialistic at all. In my experience, my senses are incredibly open -- almost painfully so -- in seasons of grief. And so the heft of a book, the smell of a flower or of soap...those everyday sensations can take on an almost sacred gravity. Digital communication just can't do that for us. So I think you're onto something. And I love that your friend whimsically re-gifted random things from around the house rather than send a generic "sorryforyourloss" text. What a great example of "something > nothing."
Ryan, what a gift to share this story with us. And a good reminder for the perfectionists among us (raises hand) that it is so much better to do *something* imperfectly than nothing at all. ❤️
Eleanor, this means so much to me. It makes me think of something my self-professed perfectionist friend Jessie has said before in seasons like this: “Being afraid of doing the wrong thing is its own form of care.” Which is so true. And, it also makes me think of Leonard Cohen: “Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” I can imagine you offering one of your beautiful textile artworks to someone as my brother’s friends offered their art, through the cracks in a deeply imperfect situation, and it being so much more than enough.
Thank you for sharing more of Dave and your experience in this season of life. And how it continues. What a force of adventure and love you continue to bring to this world
<3 <3 <3 Thank you, Sally. I wish you could have experienced the force of Dave’s sense of adventure and love, too. If I too bring that to the world it is probably because some of Dave’s force lives on in me now (and whew, my kiddo now too, in a very big way! As his many lost teeth and stitches can attest).
💕💕💕
I also don’t know what to say but thank you for telling this story. ❤️
Thank you for reading it, Dacy. <3
Ryan, this is such a beautiful piece about your brother, about loss, and what you've learned about yourself. I teared up. You really bring his spirit to life when you share your stories about him. And man...just do anything...bringing soup is something. That's also going to stick with me. (Although I'm definately a "food bearer" when the shit hits the fan.)
Thank you so much, Jen. Food is my love language as well. ❤️🍜
This is such a beautiful tribute to your brother, and a loving exploration of what it means to accompany someone through dying, and also our own grief. Thank you for the good effort you put into writing this, Ryan. It helped me reflect on the cancer journey and death of my dear friend four years ago, the ways in which I felt inadequate during that time. Reading your essay helped to normalize that feeling; it’s strangely comforting to know that most of us will feel that, because we live in a society that really doesn’t prepare us for this. As you say, there are no memes for this.
Maia, thank you for reading, and I’m so sorry to hear that you too have known this particular flavor of suffering — of watching a loved one move through cancer and death, and feeling that sense of inadequacy in the face of something so big and so hard. Writing about it rather than continuing to carry the weight of those feelings in private is a balm for me personally; it means so much to know that reading about it also offers comfort.
This was so beautiful thank you for sharing this. So sorry for the loss of your brother Dave. ❤️
Rebecca, thank you for reading, and for your own writing. I’m so glad that there are so many of us who are trying to bring more awareness to the sacredness and the struggles that come with deeply caring for others. <3
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Thank you for sharing this. ❤️
Thank you so much for reading, Elissa. I so appreciate the way that you too continuously bring awareness to the fact that these individual experiences are universal, and that we need better, more caring collective responses to them.