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 lesson left to teach. I thought what would be fitting (I had this brilliant idea […]
Tag: mourning
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.
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 the American Anthropological Association in Montréal. We just got back. The presentation went really well. […]
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 the candles. And the little mementos and ritual objects that surround those photos that remind […]
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.
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 was not sustainable. I mean, here am I — Dr. Doom, as my housemate calls […]
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.
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.