My back pages
Well, I think I have graduated from grief books. I started a new one tonight, one I’ve mentioned here recently, and the next time I get up from this chair, it’ll be going on the pile for the used bookstore. Fortunately, I bought it used, too, so it’s no great loss.
In addition to the fact that it wasn’t very well written, the reality is that I have amassed a good-sized grief library (as I imagine any bereaved person who finds solace in the pages of books does), and this book adds nothing to the canon, as far as I’m concerned. Others have said it better, more compassionately, and, I suppose more timely; at this stage of the game, what I need to learn and know about grief is not going to come from books; not grief books anyway.
I recently finished Mark Doty’s book, Heaven’s Coast, a memoir of his partner’s passing, from HIV diagnosis to the aftermath as Doty put the pieces back together. I have mentioned Doty here before; his words speak to my heart and soul like few other writers ever have, especially at this time in my life. He, through his words, has been a greater friend to me than he will ever know.
Anyway, I bought the book nearly a year ago, but it sat on my shelf month after month until some future time I imagined I’d be ready to read it. That turned out to be a week ago. And though I had it in my head that this was another grief book, it didn’t actually turn out to be that way at all. To be sure, there was sadness, and death, and grief in it, but there was also spirituality and hope that permeated the pages, a feeling that love was worth it all—all the pain, all the uncertainty, all the losses small and incalculable, all the fear, all the difficulty. If I read him right, Doty has had experiences similar to my own (and that of many lovers left behind), lending a credence based on experience as much as faith in the infinite and eternal nature of the universe, including those of us who are part of it. One cannot underestimate the value of seeing the fragile, precious yearnings of your own secret heart validated in the words of someone else. I picked up his book as a grief book, but when I put it down, it was an inspirational volume.
And that seems to be what I need now; I know how to live with grief now. I am well practiced at it by now. What I’m learning now is how to live once more with joy, and with a genuine heartfelt gladness just to be here. While I’m not sure how to get from here to there, I do believe it’s possible to make the trip. I suppose that’s good enough, for now.