grief

I’ll Write Again

/ Elizabeth Gaucher / 4 Comments

Dear Mom and Dad —

I miss you, and I don’t. But mostly I do.

Some days I miss you both at the same, and some days I only miss one of you and not so much the other.

I suppose in those ways it’s not so different from when you were alive. There are days of deep connection and need, and days of pleasant distance. As has always been true.

I realized today that for the first time one of your grandchildren is going to college, it’s official. And you won’t know it. But I have to believe you know it. You were both such champions of education, public and private and all the in-between, I have to believe you left this life in confidence that those of us left behind would keep moving that needle in a wide variety of ways.

Mom, I’m spraying this gorgeous new perfume by St. Clair in Vermont. I use it in front of your bridal portrait, which is on my dresser. You would love it.

Dad, I’ve been thinking a lot about the things you left behind that you held onto for decades. Things like your honorary pins from junior high school and high school and college.

Things like that notepad I found when we cleaned out Grandmother’s house. “Things to do today — get out of town before it’s too late.”

It’s getting easier to write again.

I can talk to you now without a reaction, or a game plan, or a response. I can say things to you — I realize it’s not quite fair, I’m not talking to you — things that I need to express, things that were never things I could just tell you. I’m thinking a lot about how as a parent I’m sure it’s a forever challenge to not respond, to just listen and receive and sit with things, because we are supposed to give advice. We are supposed to help and guide and be part of who they are. Or so we are told.

But as my own child grows up, I don’t know. I just don’t know.

I think it’s okay to be quiet.

I think it’s important to be quiet.

I think it’s good to stand in the shadows, and occasionally clear my throat. But to stay right in the shadow of who she is becoming.

I’m sorry it was so hard at the end. I suppose like every other person who has ever lived, I wanted a way to make the bad things go away. I couldn’t do that. But I wanted to.

Anyway, I love you both. And now, yeah…..I’m missing you both. Insert tearful cursing.

I’ll write again.

For all of us.

E.

Is Scott Simon violating some societal taboo?

/ Elizabeth Gaucher / 2 Comments

I wouldn’t do it, but I don’t begrudge him his choice. Everyone deals with death in his or her own way. I hope he doesn’t regret this. It begs the question, is it best to wait to write about grief, or is the moment the truest time?

rachaelhanel's avatarIf You Have Five Seconds to Spare

Perhaps you’ve heard of NPR’s Scott Simon this week—he’s getting a lot of attention for tweeting his thoughts and observations as he sits at his mother’s deathbed.

As with any public figure’s actions, Simon is getting both praise and criticism. I read through the negative comments posted to the Los Angeles Times article—here’s a sample:

  • “That is just creepy”
  • “Ratings must have been down”
  • “This guy needs to seek mental help”
  • “Can’t even someone’s dying days be afforded some dignity?”
  • “Ghoulish. Disrespectful. Selfish.”
  • “Rather he used his Mother to garner favor and a story as well as pity.”

But what Simon is doing is not new—only the vehicle for expressing his thoughts is new. Books and essays, thousands of times over, have been written about a loved one’s death, and I hear little similar criticism leveled against that type of writing. So apparently the thing that is making people…

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