my mouth opens, nothing comes out
the lull, mutiny, and ineffable reality of grief
My body committed a kind of mutiny against itself.
Normally I can put things into words, at least, on paper. I tend to overshare, over-express, and over-feel. But when asked how I have been recently, I opened my mouth, gaping and idiotic, and no sound came out. There are no words because words are concrete.
I’ve lost 4 people in 5 years. 2 grandparents, my 57-yr old father, and recently my best friend of 22 years. Any loss is unbearable, but premature loss is another kind of insanity.
People ask how you are, and if you’re lucky enough, you can muster up an ‘OK.’
But grief is not something that can be summed up in a word. It is a vortex of emotion that keeps you tumbling; for a fleeting moment, you may find your foothold, only to tumble again.
Grief is something of otherness.
If you try to use a word, for example, loss or absence, it implies the non-present existence or misplacement of something.
But the grief of a loved one feels more like a mirage; their outline is visible. They walk close to you, reach out to touch you with their fingertips, and then vanish.
Grief is the type of thing that changes you. It bares the ugliest part of you, as if (god) is splitting your organs open for a piece of artistic display. All the while you’re lying there in pain. Waiting to be sewn up.
Grief can transform someone who once danced in waves at the beach during summertime and smiled at the bloom of spring flowers. Now she hides, curtains drawn, with a dimly lit lamp, reading dark, visceral stories, perhaps by Shirley Jackson, in the shadows on a warm, sunny day.
Someone who was once blissfully unaware of death and found meaning in the companionship of the trees and the salty sea now stares at them blankly; she spins into existential dread and asks, ‘What is the point?’.
I wrote quattro flores in an attempt to relieve the welling pressure and it was like a dam with a leak, waiting to burst through. It needed to be written, however guttural it felt. But it does not answer any questions or make it any easier.
I survive well enough; my bills are paid and my family knows of my love. But inside my mind and gut is something deafening. I find myself saying “who is next?” I know this is no way to live, yet here I am bracing for an inevitable impact.
Even this piece is the tip of the iceberg and it can’t encompass the bizarre thoughts and questions that reel through my mind each day. Is my grief selfish? Is it time to move on? Are my loved ones disappointed in the change they see in me? Where are they?
Books, I have found, are the only things that give me permission. They don’t smile with cliché condolences or pseudo-spiritual hope.
These authors know, and that knowing gives freedom to bleed.
If you are caught in the vortex of grief or are confused by the actions of someone experiencing grief here are some recommendations.
Finished Books
A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis
Like I said, grief changes you. Grief caused a devout man of faith to publicly curse God. Whether you believe in a god or not, Lewis writes with unhinged honesty. If I could annotate this whole book, I would. Every line screams and kicks and spirals in the most comforting way.
Grief is the Thing with Feathers by Max Porter
A father and his sons are visited by Crow, a mirror and guide, to help them process the sudden death of their mother/wife. Fantastically dark, this reads like a phenomena or sensation rather than a piece of literature. Grief is something that Is. Crow confronts, laughs, mends, becomes the eye-hole, and the glue; the needle and thread that binds one up in grief.
Currently Reading
Monstrillio by Gerardo Sámano Córdova
Two chapters in and I am engrossed in this story and writing style. It’s eerie, but in a day dream sort of way. A mother, stoically grieving, cuts a piece of her deceased son's lung and keeps it in a jar. This book is described as a modern frankenstein; about the monster we become when grief goes unprocessed.
To Be Read
As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner
Slightly existential with a southern gothic mood, this book is about a family’s journey to fulfill their mother’s dying wish. The book addresses each person’s grief process and contemplation on the nature of existence, for their mother and themselves.
Mary Poppins by P.L. Travers
Chim-chimney dances and spoonfuls of sugar are nostalgically sweet, but I want to read this book for a different reason. The movie Saving Mr. Banks, which explores Travers and Disney’s collaboration on Mary Poppins (and is one of my favorite films), suggests the story has deep roots. It draws heartbreaking parallels to Travers’ own family and her father’s battle with and loss to alcoholism. This perspective makes it impossible to view Mary Poppins without seeing it through a lens of grief.
Mayflies by Andrew O’Hagan
For those who have lost a best friend, kindred spirit, and soul mate “James and Tully ignite a brilliant friendship based on music, films and the rebel spirit…Mayflies is a memorial to youth's euphorias and to everyday tragedy. A tender goodbye to an old union, it discovers the joy and the costs of love”
Blue Sisters by Coco Mellors
3 sisters navigate the loss of their 4th sister. It tackles grief alongside addiction and complex family dynamics. I liked Cleopatra and Frankenstein; Coco Mellors writes real and flawed characters, so I hope this book illustrates the primal, human behavior in the face of grief.
Blue Nights and A Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion
Didion’s raw outcry after suddenly losing her husband, then daughter after only a few months. I’ve only heard good things about both of these - although the idea of reading a book about losing my son and husband at the same time, would end me.
If you have lost someone recently, let’s walk together. Silently or loudly, whichever you prefer. Thoughts about the books mentioned or any additional recommendations are welcome in the comments below
.