When Megan’s dad passed in September, I wrote a piece in honor of him. Doug, Megan’s fiancé and my bestie, sent it to his mom, Jan, who read it and then subsequently subscribed to my Substack. I was immediately elated to know she’d subscribed. The thrill continued when she’d “like” a post or leave a comment. It is not lost on me that my writing isn’t for everyone, so the acceptance of your bestie’s mom feels like being an outcast pre-teen on the receiving end of esteemed adult praise.
“She was tiny, clenched, and unresponsive. With a bald head atop a braided body of pale skin, she appeared a flower bulb plucked too soon from the earth and left out to wither and dry.” Love this so much Trilety ❤️
guarded over by Edith Hamilton and her three-headed dog.”
I think you’re right that seeing a loved one die might negatively color your memory of them, especially depending on their condition and the manner of death. It’s not an experience I’ve had but I think I wish I had if only to provide some company and comfort on their way out as difficult as it might be.
* "When I picture her in the kitchen making ribs, chicken, lady peas, or any other gourmet version of the country food she grew up on, the memory morphs into the catatonic, faraway vision of death." Adolfo Bioys Casare has a short story where a character mentions that he doesn't like to see people near death, because that becomes the only way he remembers them. This actually turns out to be a clue revealed later...
* My mother always hated seeing dead bodies, so out of avoidance for herself prevented me from seeing dead bodies. I am more in the mindset that being able to sit with the materiality of corpse helps you understand the passing of a life.
“She was tiny, clenched, and unresponsive. With a bald head atop a braided body of pale skin, she appeared a flower bulb plucked too soon from the earth and left out to wither and dry.” Love this so much Trilety ❤️
As a classicist I chuckled at “the furious cave
guarded over by Edith Hamilton and her three-headed dog.”
I think you’re right that seeing a loved one die might negatively color your memory of them, especially depending on their condition and the manner of death. It’s not an experience I’ve had but I think I wish I had if only to provide some company and comfort on their way out as difficult as it might be.
I have so many comments:
* "Two halves of a new orphan" is just...
* Overboard is great
* "When I picture her in the kitchen making ribs, chicken, lady peas, or any other gourmet version of the country food she grew up on, the memory morphs into the catatonic, faraway vision of death." Adolfo Bioys Casare has a short story where a character mentions that he doesn't like to see people near death, because that becomes the only way he remembers them. This actually turns out to be a clue revealed later...
* My mother always hated seeing dead bodies, so out of avoidance for herself prevented me from seeing dead bodies. I am more in the mindset that being able to sit with the materiality of corpse helps you understand the passing of a life.