…death can be such a chaos agent, the way it comes, how it impacts so many so differently, the tendrilled ways in which the gone stay here…it’s like our ghosts create ghosts, we multiply and transform when we disappear…that hydra headed guilt ghost has been by me for so many of my life’s unexpected witnessings, most especially the painful ones…makes me wonder if it’s masked, i see it as sharp and dark, when all it really might want to do is be here for me…not sure i know how to transform somethings yet part of me holds hope that this developing appreciation for my buried and shadowed yields a balance of more light…thanks for sharing such lived in thoughts and moments…
I was totally immersed in this. Felt like I was able to see/feel everything, like I was in the diner, in your head and your mom's, feeling the helplessness, that you rationally know it's not your fault, yet you still convert the regret into a damning guilt. There is a lot I'm feeling now and I'm struggling to put into words, but of your essays I've read this one has definitely hit me the hardest! Keep it up, and curious to know more about your process here.
Upon first read, the standout parts were 1) the passage about your mother, and how her eyes are lost in her skin, worn by grief and time and 2) the sentence about imagining everyone else with perfect lives, no dead sisters. Some of the best lines you've written.
I think what got me too is how the obvious is so un-obvious, that you were so sure that your mother had no blame that you couldn't imagine that she was blaming herself. Man.
Finally, a shoutout to Hillstone too though I've never been - I'm a fan of food spots where you can really have a conversation.
…death can be such a chaos agent, the way it comes, how it impacts so many so differently, the tendrilled ways in which the gone stay here…it’s like our ghosts create ghosts, we multiply and transform when we disappear…that hydra headed guilt ghost has been by me for so many of my life’s unexpected witnessings, most especially the painful ones…makes me wonder if it’s masked, i see it as sharp and dark, when all it really might want to do is be here for me…not sure i know how to transform somethings yet part of me holds hope that this developing appreciation for my buried and shadowed yields a balance of more light…thanks for sharing such lived in thoughts and moments…
I was totally immersed in this. Felt like I was able to see/feel everything, like I was in the diner, in your head and your mom's, feeling the helplessness, that you rationally know it's not your fault, yet you still convert the regret into a damning guilt. There is a lot I'm feeling now and I'm struggling to put into words, but of your essays I've read this one has definitely hit me the hardest! Keep it up, and curious to know more about your process here.
Upon first read, the standout parts were 1) the passage about your mother, and how her eyes are lost in her skin, worn by grief and time and 2) the sentence about imagining everyone else with perfect lives, no dead sisters. Some of the best lines you've written.
I think what got me too is how the obvious is so un-obvious, that you were so sure that your mother had no blame that you couldn't imagine that she was blaming herself. Man.
Finally, a shoutout to Hillstone too though I've never been - I'm a fan of food spots where you can really have a conversation.