Posts Tagged: loss
I think what demands telling and retelling and re-retelling is this: any story in which complicated grief and desperate sadness is the main character . . . Loss is really the one thing we all share, rich and poor and stupid and smart alike.
Saeed Jones published a book of poems, Prelude To Bruise. Over at Buzzfeed, he’ll tell you why he wrote them, too:
“My mother had a fatal heart attack the night before Mother’s Day in 2011. The experience of losing her broke me down.
Emily Rapp’s name has appeared frequently on the Rumpus as her book The Still Point of the Turning World came out detailing her and her son Ronan’s experience with Tay-Sachs disease, his ultimate death, and her experiences as a mother.
Following the birth of her second child, she writes at the New York Times about how the birth of her daughter could not, and should not, replace the memory or spiritual presence of her son....more
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....more
Look. It was a nasty weekend. We both said some things we didn’t mean. Let’s just put it behind us with the weekend Rumpus roundup (though that was still a pretty perverted thing you did).
Who knew that, upon finding a tear in the fabric of time, you don’t find fear or excitement at all but only that familiar longing?...more
In his late thirties, F. Scott Fitzgerald experienced a series of emotional and mental breakdowns, many of which he wrote about in a series of random essays and observations collected under the title, The Crack-Up.
At the beginning of the self-titled essay, he writes:
“Of course, all of life is a process of breaking down, but the blows that do the dramatic side of the work — the big sudden blows that come, or seem to come, from outside — the ones you remember and blame things on and, in moments of weakness, tell your friends about, don’t show their effect all at once....more