The long goodbye

April 6, 2026

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THINKING ABOUT:
We’re getting ready for our troika book launch on Wednesday, and my memoir Bitter, Sweet comes out tomorrow. Bitter, Sweet deals—with among other things—how to say goodbye to an aging parent when we don’t have the words to heal the relationship in time. Here’s a scene from the week I spent at my mom’s hospital bedside in January, 2018:

I walked into her room a few minutes after 5 am, sitting down quietly so I didn’t wake her. Her eyes flickered open, then focused on me.

“It’s early?” A statement and a question.

“Yes, it’s early.” I took her hand.

“So, today’s the day?” I laughed, startled.

“Well, that’s completely up to you. You know me. I wake up early.” I paused, caught her gaze. “It’s okay if today’s the day.”

She didn’t answer. Then, “I need my new hearing aid. Do you know when it’s coming in?”

I know Peter isn’t ordering one because they’re very expensive and you’re dying and I’m not supposed to tell you that. I shifted in my chair, gown rustling.

“I’m not sure, Mom. Do you need a new battery for the one you have?”

She nodded, so I fished in the dresser drawer for the battery package, then tried to install the teeny battery wearing vinyl gloves. Finding it impossible, I pulled them off, put in the battery, and helped place it in her ear.

When I came back from washing my hands, pulling on a new pair of gloves, her eyes were closed. Every time we came and went, a new layer of protection slipped on and off. E. coli wasn’t airborne, so at least we didn’t have to wear masks.

I settled quietly next to her bed. Her eyes snapped open, filmy and bloodshot. The word rheumy popped into my head. Rheumy eyes. We’d always loved language.

She declared, “Do not go gentle into that good night.”

I recognized the poem as Dylan Thomas and knew one of the next lines: “Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.” I couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, you’re not going gently!”

Excerpt from Bitter, Sweet: How to Heal Yourself When Your Family Is Broken, Woodhall Press (2026)

WATCHING:
You might have missed Goodbye June as it quietly came and went on Netflix around Christmas. With an absolute banger of a cast (Helen Mirren, Timothy Spall, Andrea Riseborough, Toni Collette, and Kate Winslet), the film tells the story of the final days of June, the beloved family matriarch to whom no one wants to say goodbye. The adult children come to the hospital to spend time, fight with each other about her care, rehash ancient resentments, and dissociate—depending on their temperaments. If you haven’t gone through the loss of a parent, this will prepare you. If it happened recently, this will bring back the tears. It’s a gorgeous film about all the things we can’t talk about but desperately need to.

READING: Caregiving for Your Parents by Ilene Angel
I became friends with Ilene shortly before the pandemic began through an online writing group. We began meeting weekly to share fresh writing with each other, and became fast friends in the way you bond with someone during a crisis. Ilene was living with her elder dad, and over the years I came to know him well. He would say hello to “Your friend in the computer” and I’d ask after him when we talked. As his health crises mounted, I was one of the people who supported Ilene from afar, wishing I could do more. When he died in February of 2024, I felt like I, too, had lost a family member.

I‘ve been cheering on Ilene as she prepared this book: a love letter to other caregivers who NEED TO KNOW all the things but aren’t remotely prepared until a crisis happens. Ilene took her heartbreak and turned it into a gift. What more can we ask of an author?

You'll find all of my book recommendations at my Bookshop.

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Thanks for reading this week. Let’s hold each other close in this darkness, hold onto our empathy, and not give up working toward healing and justice.

My book is out tomorrow! If you’ve ordered it, THANK YOU. If you can drop a short review on Goodreads or Amazon, a million thanks.

Bitter, Sweet is written by me, Stephanie Weaver, MPH an author and TED talk coach. No aspect of this post is created using any type of AI. I post for the delight of writing and connecting, hoping to add a bright spot to your week regardless of what’s happening in the world. No paywalls, ever. Support my work as a disabled writer with a $5 monthly subscription, or a one-time donation via Venmo.

I love hearing from you, whether that’s by email or in the comments where you’re reading this.