Good grief? continued

Journal entry from April 18, 2012
Finished a memoir (All Wound Up: The Yarn Harlot Writes for a Spin) by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, a woman who works from home, blogs, raises three teenaged daughters, and has a passion for knitting. Knitting is Stephanie's art form and livelihood, and as she examines life she relates lessons learned back to the ways of knitting.

I loved the escapades of life that she recounted and could appreciate the humor. Daily life is a challenge and we all need something to do to help us through. I myself have used knitting but most often it's my cross-stitching that I find to be relaxing and meditative.

She wrote an essay entitled "The Time of the Big Not Knitting," about a period of grief in which knitting was not a solace. She chose not to knit, but rather found that she needed all her energy to deal with her deep sorrow, as well as, care for those around her. She never mentions what her deep sorrow was but knews that each reader could relate to a time in his/her own life. I'm finding it hard to write even though I know it might help me.

I had signed up for a writing course shortly before my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. I found I couldn't focus on the first assignment. It was so simple. I composed it in my head. I just couldn't get it out and onto paper or typed into the computer. I ended up withdrawing after the first class. Dad passed away shortly there after.

I'm still struggling with grief. Trying to right my life. There are days I feel I am loat at sea just bobbing along among the waves. Other days I seem to be my very efficient self, things get done and I fell competent.

I'm grateful to have taken a few moments to multitask (I've got dinner on the stove), and to write this little essay in my journal. Hopefully, I will find the energy to generate a blog post of this. There are several others that need to be composed and posted from the journal writing I have done over the last several months.

10/16/2012 - so here is the post finally. The writing is starting to happen again. Just like when Stephanie returned to her knitting once the grief had been lived through and the healing took place.

Good grief?

This has been a year of grieving. First my father's passing, the graduation of my daughter and her moving on to college (strange to call it a form of grief), saying good-bye to the lake house and all its wonderful memories, and now Aunt Ruth's funeral mass today. It has been such a challenging year. I've written about reading Tolstoy and the Purple Chair, a memoir of grieving and now I have another title to share, Anne Tyler's The Beginner's Goodbye. Aaron, the narrator of this story has lost his wife and begins the process of grief and the eventual return to life that comes after the healing process.

But I want to focus on this passage, " 'Reading is the first to go,' my mother used to say, meaning that it was a luxury the brain dispensed with under duress. She claimed that after my father died she never again picked up anything more demanding than the morning paper. At the time I thought that was sort of melodramatic of her, but now I found myself reading the same paragraph six times over, and still I couldn't have told you what it was about." (p. 52) I thank God this did not happen to me. Reading was my fallback. I could escape my own thoughts for a while. At times the ideas running through my head were just to much to handle and I needed a break. Thankfully, Tyler's story is an example of someone who makes it through the grief to the other side. It's an example of hope for those of us who are still slogging through the mire.

The Purple Chair Revisited

February 14, 2012 journal entry
I just want to sit and escape from the world for a while. Maybe escaping for a while is okay. Just not forever. The world has been a scary place recently and I've need to get away from it for some time to rebuild my strength. I held it together for so long but now I need to rest. Start from the ground up. The purple chair is a blue love seat that thankfully doesn't smell of old cat urine. Plus I don't plan to retreat so completely as to read a book everyday for a year no matter how attractive that does sound. 

Nearly eight months ago I wrote of the grief over my father's death. My mother and I had brought my dad back from the hospital so that he could die at home. There is no rest for us this year. At the end of June we placed an aunt in the nursing home and she passed away two days ago. Once again we find ourselves planning a funeral. I am exhausted and seek only to take to my bed with a book and read. I crave comfort which can only be found under the covers of my quilt and between the covers of a good book. Maybe Nina Sankovitch had it right in her memoir, Tolstoy and the Purple Chair, there is a way through grief by a dose of daily reading.

What now?

I think Susan Hill has put it very well in her book Howards End is on the Landing, "But I was looking for a book. I have no option but to find one here, in the house, for this is my year of reading from home and suddenly there is nothing, absolutely nothing, I want to take down and open, to read or re-read. I don't think the fault lies in the books, the feeling applies to the wardrobe (nothing to wear), or the full larder (nothing I want to eat). I daresay very rich people with the private jet standing by have the same problem- no where they want to go." (page. 77) I have finished the book and now I need another. 

Bad news came last night with one of those heart thumping, jarring awake from sleep telephone calls. Someone dear had passed away. It was expected and it's a blessing that the suffering was little and quickly over. But now I was wide awake and I needed distraction from the thoughts in my head so I turned to the book and finished it off. Then I was able to sleep once more. 

Thank God for the comfort of books. It has been a year of needing comfort and escape when life has just become to over whelming. Every once in a while the struggle comes when I go to the book shelf for the next volume only to discover I'm not really thrilled with any of the choices there. Oh there are plenty of choices, and just like Susan Hill I could used to go a year without buying anything new (in fact the year before last I vowed to read from my collection or that of my local library). Oh just pick one, try it, if it doesn't work out try another. I often do that only to find a week maybe two goes by and then I find my way back to the discarded choice to pick it up and avidly read it to the end. Sometimes there just must be the right time for the reading of a particular book. The old saying goes "the teacher will appear when the student is ready," in this case it is "that the book will come along when the reader is ready!"

The comfort of books

Today has been a trying day. Life is a tidal wave crashing over my head right now. I've retreated to my bed where I now sit ensconced in my comfy "jammies" and fleecy bathrobe, tucked up seeking solace from a book.  Tonight it is Susan Hill's Howards End is on the Landing a look at one woman's committment to reading from the books found on her own shelves. I loved her description of the SDD - small dark den, the sitting room with its window seat, and the Shakespeare Professor's lair at the top of the stairs which are all sources of shelved reading materials that have been forgotten about, put aside for later, or the much loved and rediscovered. It's satisfied my yearning for a get away to the quintessential English cottage, a lovely mental holiday.   Instead, I find myself in my very New England style cape cod house with its gabled window and slanting front wall, but snug as a bug escaping from my trying day. Thank God for a brief moment to rest the weary soul with a pleasing and restoring distraction. I know that tomorrow I will have to pick up where I left off and go on with the story of my life. In the meantime I can read the story of someone else's life tonight.

I want to be visible

I finished Calling Invisible Women last night. A rather fun read disguising a really deep emotional message, the need to be noticed by others. It's premise (spoiler alert coming) is that a strange pharmaceutical cocktail of prescriptions from the fictitious Dexter-White company is causing middle aged women to become invisible. For many of the victims they had been feeling invisible to family, friends, and employers and now there was no longer a face staring back at them in the mirror. Clover Hobart the narrator of the story is one such woman. She takes us along to support group meetings where she learns about the cause of her physical change. But more than that she takes us along as she discovers the power within.

As a result of her new condition she discovers the urge to right some of the wrongs around her. Who hasn't dreamed of having invisibility as a superpower? Clover takes the plunge and does a few reckless things. What she really learns and tries to teach the rest of us is that we can't lose sight of our passions in life.  We need to shine and maintain our visibility. As a middle aged woman there are days I feel invisible. There are days when I question what is my true passion, will I ever figure it out, and if I do will there be enough time to pursue it.

Not going to tell you how things end, but sometimes I too wish for a superpower. Then again maybe I am super enough already.

Getting back to the blog

I haven't posted to this blog in quite some time. In fact not since life took its dramatic turn over Christmas break when my father fell ill. What a whirlwind experience that was, from bringing him to the hospital thinking he had a small stroke to finding out that his symptoms were a result of the cancer that would swiftly take him by February 1st. What kept me going besides faith and the love and support of family and friends were the words. The words I produced in countless journal entries and the many books I read over the last ten months.

Journal entry from 2/13/12
Today I began reading Nina Sankovitch's memoir Tolstoy and the Purple Chair about her year of reading as a way to deal with the grief of her sister's death from cancer.  I had picked the book up off the library shelf before only to put it back down. I wasn't ready for it yet. 

"I took on a year of reading books for a reason. Because words are witness to life: they record what has happened and they make it all real. Words create the stories that become history and become unforgettable." ( p. 108) 

I certainly haven't had the luxury of taking a year off and spending it snuggled up in my favorite comfy chair with the goal of reading a book a day and reviewing them, but I have read. I have read lots of stories some have been for pure escape and others to help me find my way. That's where I am now on the journey of making sense of where life is taking me now. Things change in the blink of an eye. Sometimes we must cling to those things that bring normalcy to our lives like a cup of coffee, a comfortable spot to sit, and a book in ones lap.