Tag Archives: mourning

the stones I cannot place

My mother’s ‘passing’  has crippled my writing.  And apparently that’s not all. It would be unfair to blame her, per se, because that would be rude.  But I’ve had a sneaking suspicion that she’s had a hand in it.  Some … Continue reading

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daily kaddish: for mourning itself

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Mira said it really well—our yearlong project of mourning together in this “kaddish in two-part harmony” project has done the job. It has worked so well that we both feel good and done with mourning itself. Our grief is replaced with happiness, and there are moments when that feels—well, sad. Continue reading

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a mourning mourning morning

At a certain point, I suppose, I just got sick of the whole damned enterprise. And that was the time to step back and write a paper about our process. Which we did. And presented at the Annual Meetings of … Continue reading

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like an addiction, it’s hard to stop—

I can’t quite take the pictures down. Can’t quite stop staring at them. Can’t call it an altar exactly, but I know others do. Others have. And others will.  How do we stop mourning and put the pictures away? And … Continue reading

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daily kaddish: for Syl Nemes, Mr. Soft-Hackle

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Today’s Kaddish is for trout-fishing and in particular soft-hackle wet-fly flyfishing eminence Syl Nemes, and it’s a partial response to @Kaia Fahrenholz’s question about not feeling sad about death. Continue reading

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I’m all kaddished-out, she said… — the real secret of mourning rituals…

I know I brought this up on my last post — the one on suicides — about just feeling all kaddished-out.  And then, hearing of Randy’s suicide, feeling that there was more to say. Much more.  But then even that … Continue reading

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daily kaddish: just another day in our year

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Mira and I have been talking backstage about the themes in the daily Kaddish. Sometimes I ask her, “What should today’s Kaddish be about?” or a variation of that question, because there’s just nobody or nothing specific I have in mind. Continue reading

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daily kaddish: a kaddish for mr. one-paw

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It’s a lesson I have to relearn each time: the hardest thing is the sudden deprivation of rituals. This is the last time Fuller will ever be on my lap. Friday was the last time Fuller played with his favorite catnip mouse. One minute he’s here, the next he’s gone. Continue reading

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