"Grief—as I knew it,
died many times. It
died trying to reunite with other lesser
deaths. Each morning I lay out my
children’s clothing to cover their grief.
The grief remains but is changed by
what it is covered with. A picture of
oblivion is not the same as oblivion.
My grief is not the same as my pain. My
mother was a mathematician so I tried
to calculate my grief. My father was an
engineer so I tried to build a box around
my grief, along with a small wooden
bed that grief could lie down on. The
texts kept interrupting my grief, forcing
me to speak about nothing. If you cut
out a rectangle of a perfectly blue sky,
no clouds, no wind, no birds, frame it
with a blue frame, place it faceup on
the floor of an empty museum with an
open atrium to the sky, that is grief."
died trying to reunite with other lesser
deaths. Each morning I lay out my
children’s clothing to cover their grief.
The grief remains but is changed by
what it is covered with. A picture of
oblivion is not the same as oblivion.
My grief is not the same as my pain. My
mother was a mathematician so I tried
to calculate my grief. My father was an
engineer so I tried to build a box around
my grief, along with a small wooden
bed that grief could lie down on. The
texts kept interrupting my grief, forcing
me to speak about nothing. If you cut
out a rectangle of a perfectly blue sky,
no clouds, no wind, no birds, frame it
with a blue frame, place it faceup on
the floor of an empty museum with an
open atrium to the sky, that is grief."
From “Obits: Poems,” by Victoria
Chang (Copper Canyon, 2020) Reprinted with permission of the publisher.
As my grief moved from acute to chronic, more subjects suggested themselves as blog topics. Since abandoning my condo for greater safety during this pandemic, reading has been life giving to me. Some time ago I read My Life With BOB, Pamela Paul. BOB is her book of books, a simple list she's kept of the books she reads. After reading her book I began my own BOB. Today I consolidated scattered lists into my BOB and discovered that I've read 14 books since leaving my condo in mid-March. This accounts, in my opinion, as a significant factor in the peace and serenity I feel.
It's not entirely clear to me how reading does this. Much of it would have to do with having my mind occupied by something worthwhile. The other perspectives offered in literature also has a calming effect. Learning is a form of growing and that is also transforming.
Blessed and grateful would sum up my feeling.
Takk for alt,
Al
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