It's been so long since my parents (your grandparents) died that I can barely remember life with them. I do not actively miss them, but Polly Cowan does now and then reach out across the great divide to speak to me. She always has. Her voice rings clear and true in my mind.
That may sound woo woo, but the very last conversation we had before she died suddenly was about how she planned to come talk to me even after she was dead. She was like that.
This feels so true it almost aches. I’ve been sitting with that same question—the difference between a life lived in duty and one lived in choice. When I was caring for my parents, “duty” gave me something solid to stand on, but it also carried a silent heaviness, like I was answering a call I hadn’t fully chosen. When I step back and look at my life in fragments though —daughter, partner, mother, builder, daughter again—I kind of see a different pattern. Not obligation, but purpose, constantly reshaping itself. The universe doesn’t hand it to us cleanly. It’s messy, uneven, sometimes it even feels like failure. But there was meaning in showing up for each version of my life as it asked something different of me. I think that’s the shift you’re circling: maybe the actions don’t change as much as we imagine—but the ownership of them does. Duty says “you must.” Purpose whispers “this is yours.”
There’s a kind of freedom in that, but also a kind of vertigo. When the “shoulds” fall away, what’s left is quieter—and requires more courage to trust.
I’m really moved by how you’re standing in that question instead of rushing to answer it.
Thank you for once again sharing your thoughts. I find that going through photos albums, the old fashion ones at age 82 helps me to recall times with my mother and others as a means to remember some of the wonderful events and moments that counter the opposite.
i love that jacob felt the wistfulness of the moment in the vestibule, and i love that he expressed it to you. also... i love the pic of you and rachel at the beach: it is a visual articulation of love and joy, and it also looks a lot like you and tessa.
It's been so long since my parents (your grandparents) died that I can barely remember life with them. I do not actively miss them, but Polly Cowan does now and then reach out across the great divide to speak to me. She always has. Her voice rings clear and true in my mind.
That may sound woo woo, but the very last conversation we had before she died suddenly was about how she planned to come talk to me even after she was dead. She was like that.
Nice piece, Lisa. I love reading your essays.
This feels so true it almost aches. I’ve been sitting with that same question—the difference between a life lived in duty and one lived in choice. When I was caring for my parents, “duty” gave me something solid to stand on, but it also carried a silent heaviness, like I was answering a call I hadn’t fully chosen. When I step back and look at my life in fragments though —daughter, partner, mother, builder, daughter again—I kind of see a different pattern. Not obligation, but purpose, constantly reshaping itself. The universe doesn’t hand it to us cleanly. It’s messy, uneven, sometimes it even feels like failure. But there was meaning in showing up for each version of my life as it asked something different of me. I think that’s the shift you’re circling: maybe the actions don’t change as much as we imagine—but the ownership of them does. Duty says “you must.” Purpose whispers “this is yours.”
There’s a kind of freedom in that, but also a kind of vertigo. When the “shoulds” fall away, what’s left is quieter—and requires more courage to trust.
I’m really moved by how you’re standing in that question instead of rushing to answer it.
Thank you for once again sharing your thoughts. I find that going through photos albums, the old fashion ones at age 82 helps me to recall times with my mother and others as a means to remember some of the wonderful events and moments that counter the opposite.
i love that jacob felt the wistfulness of the moment in the vestibule, and i love that he expressed it to you. also... i love the pic of you and rachel at the beach: it is a visual articulation of love and joy, and it also looks a lot like you and tessa.