Grief and Imagination

Literary Imaginings Part II

I never imagined that The Shape of What Remains would resonate for so many in the first month of its public life. Grief is universal and it is having a moment in our collective consciousness right now. When a loved one dies, our personal universe is shattered, remade into something that may resemble our former life but it is not the same. We go through the machinations of our days, working, reading, exercising, spending time with friends or family but we are irrevocably altered. Being altered is not the same as being diminished. It isn’t possible to rewind to the time when that person was alive but it is possible to weave together memories and discover something new. Imagination and writing can figure into this remaking of a life impacted by grief.

All of us grieve at some time in our lives. It may be the loss of a pet, a grandparent, a friend. I lost a lifelong friend a couple of years ago and some days it feels like it just happened. With that death, I lost a part of my shared adolescence and early adulthood. I felt as if this friend saved me during a turbulent time in my reach toward adulthood. When we reconnected as adults, it was joyous and inspiring. We were able to celebrate what we’d become and share artistic paths in a collaboration of poetry and music.

I’ve lost parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. Some deaths impact more than others but what I’ve learned about grief is that it arrives unbidden, triggered by a smell, a song, a season, or a landscape. With my friend, Macintosh apples bring back memories. I remember the songs we wrote together and visits to a long defunct orchard where we’d share the best apple cider donuts, blaring music from the radio all the way there and back. Jazz evokes memories of my father.

There is no good time to lose someone, even if that person was lucky enough to reach an advanced age in relatively good health. The true wealth in life comes from people who touch us in sometimes inexplicable ways. I had a high school teacher who recognized my writing ability and entered my poem in the National Scholastic Writing Awards where I won a first prize. I’m sure he didn’t know how important he was to my eventual path as a writer.

I did not set out to write a book about grief. Characters come to me and Teresa’s compelling voice stayed with me for years. I could hear her correcting my dialogue when it was out of character. I admired her bravery, her sense of the ironic, and her desire to live even when the greatness of loss overwhelmed and paralyzed her. How do humans persist in the midst of chaos, loss, and the threat of personal harm? I do not know why some of us are able to keep our personal integrity intact in the wake of daily assaults on our safety or security. I only know that those I most admire used adverse circumstances to grow stronger, whether through art, invention, or activism.

I do not believe that what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger but I know from personal experience that we have the capacity to rise above our circumstances, dignifying difficulties by writing, painting, composing, dancing. Art is not a luxury but a way to chronicle what it means to be human.