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Posts Tagged: death

I Know Death Too Well By Now

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In a breathtaking essay on aging, Roger Angell reflects on death. At the age of 93, he writes: ”A weariness about death exists in me and in us all in another way, as well, though we scarcely notice it.”

Angell has experienced his share of loss and hardship, but emphasizes the dailiness of his own experience, and how infrequently he thinks of his own impending visitor: death.

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Weekend Rumpus Roundup

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We’ve had a busy couple weekends at the Rumpus lately, and we wanted to make sure nobody missed any of the spectacular essays and book reviews we’ve been posting.

For example, this weekend we reviewed Bradley L. Garrett’s urban-exploration treatise Explore Everything, and Thea Goodman wrote about her complex relationship with a cousin who suffered a severe burn and later overdosed.

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A Different Type of Grieving

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Rumpus contributor Melissa Chadburn has a heartbreaking and beautiful essay at Buzzfeed about how she is learning to grieve for her nephew who was stillborn and how to use that process going forward:

“I’m reminded of a gospel that personifies Death: Death, this being that rides a pale white horse, the clomps and gallops leaving a trail of lightning behind him, and then Death picks up the dying person or animal or baby, the person in pain, the baby that is too tired for this world, and Death brings them to rest in the bosom of Mercy and the gospel asks us mothers and sisters and fathers and sons and brothers and lovelorn and grief-stricken and lonesome — not to weep.

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“As Long As I’ve Been Alive I Have Known That I Am Going to Die”

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At five, at six, I knew that the cemetery was full of dead bodies rotting away in boxes under the ground, and I knew that I would be one of those bodies under the ground one day, too. I could imagine myself dead; I could imagine it, and I did….Sometimes I would force these thoughts upon myself as if to test their power, or my power to resist them.

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silencetwo

What Music?

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A dozen Decembers ago, my brother was found in his Bronco, burnt to shit. He had been out drinking with strangers—at least, that’s what the detective told us. The last words we know he said were, “Good night, new friends.”

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Walk With Me

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At the edges of the Earth was Lintukoto, the home of the water birds who brought souls to newly born humans and snatched them away at the moment of death. In ancient Finnish mythology those yellow and black-billed whoopers transported the deceased to an underground city, a dark and crowded place ruled by Tuoni, the spirit of death

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Flock of Pigeons - Watercolor Painting of Birds

Consider the Bird

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I remember the night he told me about the white bird there was a Styrofoam cup with a bendable straw and water in one hand, and a Bayer pill in a medicine cup. Where was everyone else? I don’t remember.

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