I have two family members with whom this very thing has also happened. One is my Father-in-Law whom I adored for well over twenty years until he became Fox News obsessed and religious all of a sudden. I named my son after him and now wish I could take that back. If a person could be a cutting board then my son is that person. I am the person I always was and he is some angry, bitter 87 year old I don't even know. The other is a cousin that I was raised with like a brother, who became religious in our thirties and angry because his beloved father, my beloved uncle, was taken way too soon. He too is an angry, Fox watching religion spewing person I don't recognize except for occasional conversations when I laugh, he laughs, and I almost forget that he wasn't always the person he is now. It makes me sad for them.
Lovely, lyrical writing with a sense of peace-made resolve regarding the brother. Terrific photos too, as if the cutting board has pared away all the dogma to represent the pure spirit of the giver.
"A Braille for siblings who could never see through to each other's hearts"- I love that line. I'm in a similar situation with my adult siblings. We can't really see each other. The cutting board is a wonderful metaphor for the unique pain of this experience. What moves me about this essay is that the cutting board could hold a love that was real, even when the relationship couldn't contain it.
I loved reading this. I deeply related to this line, "a murky stew of self-doubt and recriminations that I can never be good enough to deserve love, that people I love always leave." The imagery swept me away and I already want to read your memoir!
Thos was so beautiful. I was moved to tears by this: "I swept my hand over the gentle dips in the cutting board in a soothing motion. I thought about how, a half a century ago, he selected lengths of oak and maple 1x2 boards with intent. How he crafted them into this workhorse of a lifetime, one carefully measured cut after another." 👏
Wow. Just... wow. As a queer adult also estranged from all of my blood relatives except my sons, this one hits hard. Such a beautiful, elegiac piece. Thank you for writing it and being brave enough to share it!
This is so beautiful, Kris. My brother and I survived childhood trauma together, and also took completely different life paths. I sat with him in 2021 as he took his last breaths, dying from COVID-19. Most Sundays I wear an old t-shirt of his.
I have two family members with whom this very thing has also happened. One is my Father-in-Law whom I adored for well over twenty years until he became Fox News obsessed and religious all of a sudden. I named my son after him and now wish I could take that back. If a person could be a cutting board then my son is that person. I am the person I always was and he is some angry, bitter 87 year old I don't even know. The other is a cousin that I was raised with like a brother, who became religious in our thirties and angry because his beloved father, my beloved uncle, was taken way too soon. He too is an angry, Fox watching religion spewing person I don't recognize except for occasional conversations when I laugh, he laughs, and I almost forget that he wasn't always the person he is now. It makes me sad for them.
Thanks for sharing your story Christina. So hard to live in fractured families.
Having not had a conversation with my only sibling in well over a decade, your story resonates.
Lovely, lyrical writing with a sense of peace-made resolve regarding the brother. Terrific photos too, as if the cutting board has pared away all the dogma to represent the pure spirit of the giver.
"A Braille for siblings who could never see through to each other's hearts"- I love that line. I'm in a similar situation with my adult siblings. We can't really see each other. The cutting board is a wonderful metaphor for the unique pain of this experience. What moves me about this essay is that the cutting board could hold a love that was real, even when the relationship couldn't contain it.
The longing that's always there, even tho... Beautiful piece.
thank you!
Your heart beats in every word. So powerful! Inspired me to subscribe to Open Secrets. Thanks for making my day! Michele from Maggie’s 2025 class.
Maggie's class!!
I can only repeat what others have said before me: This is beautiful.
thank you, Linda.
I loved reading this. I deeply related to this line, "a murky stew of self-doubt and recriminations that I can never be good enough to deserve love, that people I love always leave." The imagery swept me away and I already want to read your memoir!
Thos was so beautiful. I was moved to tears by this: "I swept my hand over the gentle dips in the cutting board in a soothing motion. I thought about how, a half a century ago, he selected lengths of oak and maple 1x2 boards with intent. How he crafted them into this workhorse of a lifetime, one carefully measured cut after another." 👏
Thank you!
Oh, my heart 🖤💔🖤
Wow. Just... wow. As a queer adult also estranged from all of my blood relatives except my sons, this one hits hard. Such a beautiful, elegiac piece. Thank you for writing it and being brave enough to share it!
Thank you, Gordon. I am happy that it spoke to your lived experience and sorry that it was your experience at the same time.
This is so beautiful, Kris. My brother and I survived childhood trauma together, and also took completely different life paths. I sat with him in 2021 as he took his last breaths, dying from COVID-19. Most Sundays I wear an old t-shirt of his.
I am so sorry for your loss Michele.
And also for yours, Kris.
PS His name was Chris.
I love this. Objects like the cutting board can remind us of the bonds that preexist diverging paths. Family is complicated indeed. ❤️
Beautiful words - and, not something I've ever said before, but that really is a very beautiful chopping board!
thank you! I agree it is a beautiful cutting board.