I'm so sorry for your family's loss. Losing a parent or step-parent is hard for those of us who had pretty good ones.
Over the last year or so, I too, have thought about all the last things. We had a storm last spring and a tree fell over and demolished my car. After talking it over with the kids - and since we live together - it didn't seem prudent to buy another with maintenance and insurance. So -- that sweet little SUV I bought during 1/2 time of the first OU game in August of 2007 became the last car I ever bought. I took great care of it and so it lasted fully until May of 2025. It lived longer than a lot of people get to.
I was never worried about last things or death before. And then, I was. Then that worry grew exponentially. Now, I put an incredible amount of work into not getting sick because it could be my last one. I kinda' miss the girl who tripped through life putting far more effort into experiences than things. I hope I'll snap out of it and don't stop living long before the actual event.
Over the past two decades of reflection, a theme has been developing in how I understand some things about being human. I've only recognized it quite recently, and my time writing here on Substack has played a large part in helping me understand what I'm coming to see as a fundamental truth of humanity. You've also touched on it here, Kim. I've recently decided I'm going to double down on the idea, because it's been so important in my life and the life of those walking with me.
It is this: Meaningful confession is the thing that will save us. "Us" meaning humanity.
Growing up as a Christian evangelical, this idea was in the air. But we got it wrong. We'd revel in stories of deathbed confessions, testimonials of how people found God in their last moments. These days, I find this as one more piece of evidence that the evangelical story we were told and told others completely misses the point.
Confession isn't for the confessor, it's for whoever the confessor has violated in one way or another. I think most people come to understand this at some level, even if it's subconsciously. We don't need to get our hearts right with God.
We need to get our hearts right with those we've hurt. When this happens, we the confessor can heal too.
This is why I feel such appreciation for what you shared here, Kim. I'm sad with you that your mother wasn't able to share the reality of her relationship with you. There was a sort of unintentional(?) gaslighting that went unacknowledged. At least not with the intentionality that you deserved. The grace and understanding with which you're able to talk about your mother, the epitome of a human person, is a lesson for us all.
I only lost my old baby cat this week; we knew it would only get horrible if we waited. I'm waiting for her to come in and mutter at me, ask for a tum tum rub. It's that time of day.
Lasts. They seem final but are they? Should they carry such weight: last? Some of the time when remembering, maybe. I remember the last time with my father, my grandfather, my mom, my . . name the rest, I don't want to. Those moments were important, but the trip my mom took me on after divorcing the horrible man - that just put a big grin on my face. My dad, holding me in his lap, saying, "Love you more than you love me," and I reply, "uh-uh, love you more," and we say it over each other and then hug each other tight, giggling. Costa Rica with my friend for her 60th, after her husband had died, going through the forest, rafting, seeing sloths and howler monkeys and hummingbirds, and drinking wine at night and laughing, remembering when we met at fifteen. That I will not get more memories hurts but what I have! How fortunate we are for each one made, kept in our minds and hearts! How fortunate. Now, where's the damn cat? where is she?
The last time I saw my father, I didn't think it was going to be the last. I even said to him, see you next month. The last time I saw my mother, I knew it would be the last. She was unconscious and days/hours away from dying. I think the "last things/moments" that we don't know are going to be the last can be some of the roughest, especially when we're grieving and regrets arise. Thanks for your thought-provoking post!
As always, a fabulously introspective piece. Thank you. I do love your writing. Here’s the but: you really didn’t need to throw the f word in (see my previous comment on me using it). Lots of other ways to imply your meaning: “bang”, “moment of intimacy”, etc. I will not stop reading you because of it, but neither will I stop trying to convince you - your superior work doesn’t need it. Be well and write on.
Another insightful essay Kim. Last night I was thinking about the last thing my brother ate before he died and it brought me joy to think even then he could enjoy the flavour and sensation of a lemon sorbet. Then I read your story this morning. Wonderful timing.
And I live right beside the Noosa River. Trish went to a beautiful place for her last journey on earth.
Very good stories of human behavior. My father carried emotional pain/secrets to hospice. Some of the secrets were regrets/shame. I wonder if I had known his secrets how it would have impacted our relationship . I think about him often and how tortured he may have been
Fucking hell, Foster, that was a beautiful read. Thank you.
I'm so sorry for your family's loss. Losing a parent or step-parent is hard for those of us who had pretty good ones.
Over the last year or so, I too, have thought about all the last things. We had a storm last spring and a tree fell over and demolished my car. After talking it over with the kids - and since we live together - it didn't seem prudent to buy another with maintenance and insurance. So -- that sweet little SUV I bought during 1/2 time of the first OU game in August of 2007 became the last car I ever bought. I took great care of it and so it lasted fully until May of 2025. It lived longer than a lot of people get to.
I was never worried about last things or death before. And then, I was. Then that worry grew exponentially. Now, I put an incredible amount of work into not getting sick because it could be my last one. I kinda' miss the girl who tripped through life putting far more effort into experiences than things. I hope I'll snap out of it and don't stop living long before the actual event.
Over the past two decades of reflection, a theme has been developing in how I understand some things about being human. I've only recognized it quite recently, and my time writing here on Substack has played a large part in helping me understand what I'm coming to see as a fundamental truth of humanity. You've also touched on it here, Kim. I've recently decided I'm going to double down on the idea, because it's been so important in my life and the life of those walking with me.
It is this: Meaningful confession is the thing that will save us. "Us" meaning humanity.
Growing up as a Christian evangelical, this idea was in the air. But we got it wrong. We'd revel in stories of deathbed confessions, testimonials of how people found God in their last moments. These days, I find this as one more piece of evidence that the evangelical story we were told and told others completely misses the point.
Confession isn't for the confessor, it's for whoever the confessor has violated in one way or another. I think most people come to understand this at some level, even if it's subconsciously. We don't need to get our hearts right with God.
We need to get our hearts right with those we've hurt. When this happens, we the confessor can heal too.
This is why I feel such appreciation for what you shared here, Kim. I'm sad with you that your mother wasn't able to share the reality of her relationship with you. There was a sort of unintentional(?) gaslighting that went unacknowledged. At least not with the intentionality that you deserved. The grace and understanding with which you're able to talk about your mother, the epitome of a human person, is a lesson for us all.
(And I think you're f-wordin' awesome for it.)
Love. So much to think about, saved to read again.
I only lost my old baby cat this week; we knew it would only get horrible if we waited. I'm waiting for her to come in and mutter at me, ask for a tum tum rub. It's that time of day.
Lasts. They seem final but are they? Should they carry such weight: last? Some of the time when remembering, maybe. I remember the last time with my father, my grandfather, my mom, my . . name the rest, I don't want to. Those moments were important, but the trip my mom took me on after divorcing the horrible man - that just put a big grin on my face. My dad, holding me in his lap, saying, "Love you more than you love me," and I reply, "uh-uh, love you more," and we say it over each other and then hug each other tight, giggling. Costa Rica with my friend for her 60th, after her husband had died, going through the forest, rafting, seeing sloths and howler monkeys and hummingbirds, and drinking wine at night and laughing, remembering when we met at fifteen. That I will not get more memories hurts but what I have! How fortunate we are for each one made, kept in our minds and hearts! How fortunate. Now, where's the damn cat? where is she?
The last time I saw my father, I didn't think it was going to be the last. I even said to him, see you next month. The last time I saw my mother, I knew it would be the last. She was unconscious and days/hours away from dying. I think the "last things/moments" that we don't know are going to be the last can be some of the roughest, especially when we're grieving and regrets arise. Thanks for your thought-provoking post!
As always, a fabulously introspective piece. Thank you. I do love your writing. Here’s the but: you really didn’t need to throw the f word in (see my previous comment on me using it). Lots of other ways to imply your meaning: “bang”, “moment of intimacy”, etc. I will not stop reading you because of it, but neither will I stop trying to convince you - your superior work doesn’t need it. Be well and write on.
You are such an amazing writer Kim. Made me cry ❤️
The way you convey the complexity of emotion in your writing overwhelms me in the best way possible.
I agree, Dr., this was particularly poignant. ❤️
This means a lot to me. Thank you.
Another insightful essay Kim. Last night I was thinking about the last thing my brother ate before he died and it brought me joy to think even then he could enjoy the flavour and sensation of a lemon sorbet. Then I read your story this morning. Wonderful timing.
And I live right beside the Noosa River. Trish went to a beautiful place for her last journey on earth.
Thank you for this thought provoking article. Endings have been on my mind a lot. The hardest part is not knowing which time might be the last time.
I try to make every time count. Just in case.
Very good stories of human behavior. My father carried emotional pain/secrets to hospice. Some of the secrets were regrets/shame. I wonder if I had known his secrets how it would have impacted our relationship . I think about him often and how tortured he may have been
What a beautiful, bittersweet post. Thank you.
I loved this.