Friday, January 25, 2013

LOSS & THE HAND THAT CREATES


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The Art of Writing Grief



Throughout the history of art and music and literature, loss stands among love and religion as one of the great movers of the hand. Great symphonies, paintings and sculptures, poems and songs, great tombs that survive centuries have all been born of sorrow and loss.  I have recently been reading ancient Greek literature and among the great poems and tragedies and epics we find loss so real one can only intuit personal experience from the insight.

This New Years Day, I lost my father. Dan Unger was a hero to many, a fierce defender of justice in the courts and among those he met. He was an enigma even to those of us who knew him best. He never once said a negative thing about anyone, no matter the dislike he harboured. But he was stubborn and bullheaded, impossible in an argument. He loved, truly loved, few. And those he loved, he loved with a loyalty that could never be touched. For seven days, my sister, my mother, and I (my brother died when I was seventeen) sat by his side, held his hand, sang him songs, recounted his triumphs… and watched him slip away. Helpless. 
 
Unable to sleep for days, I wrote. I wrote on pieces of paper and on the computer. I wrote and wrote (in the flurry of written pages, I managed to finish the manuscript edits on the Young Inventors Guild, Book 2!) and found that I was able to work through some of the impossible grief I felt. It is times of loss that the mind overloads with cries of injustice, wails of sorrow, gasps of disbelief, all rising within until the heavy weight they bring becomes too much to see anything else. We can sometimes let those guardians of grief become the driving force behind the pen or brush and give us room to breathe. In truth, it doesn’t really matter what is on the page or canvas as much as what it does for us to put our sorrows there.

I’ve taught my children to use this source of liberation. If they are angry or sad, let the words out. Put them on paper and let them out. Then, if you want to be rid of the anger, tear up that paper, Burn it, throw it away, flush it. The important thing is to let them out. Words are powerful and can tear you up inside if you don’t find a way to let them out.

The day of my father’s funeral, I was asked to speak. I did. But as I watched the sun come up over the Pacific, thinking of times when he stood beside me watching that same sun over that same ocean, I wrote. I wrote and wrote and wrote. I wrote as tears came down my face and blurred the ink on the page. And I took a poem that I wrote, unedited and unchanged, and read that to the people who came to share their stories. This is that poem.

THE SOUND OF THE TREE

The question is not
Whether the tree,
Alone, falling,
Makes a sound.

The question is,
When a great tree falls,
How do we listen?
How can we know?
How do we hear
Before it is too late?

To witness such majesty
To honour age and strength
To be there, to be present,
To listen with our hearts

Knowing all the while
With such a great tree

We are powerless
We can do nothing
But stand there
And be witness
To the end


eden

11 comments:

  1. Beautiful and very sad I'm sorry for your loss.

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  2. Oh, Eden, I'm so sorry to hear of your loss. I completely agree: words are powerful. Sometimes they help, sometimes they hurt. I hope they help you heal. <3

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  3. Beautiful words, Eden. I'm sorry for your loss and wish your family all the best in the coming days.

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  4. I'm so sorry for your loss, Eden, but these are very wise words.

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  5. Eden, I will be thinking of you as you grieve the loss of your father. Thank you for sharing your heart.

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  6. Beautiful writing; beautiful poem. What a tribute to your father, Eden. And how true it is that, when grief strikes, a writer can find solace in writing. I know I have.

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  7. I love your poem, Eden. It is wonderful that your father inspired you to write such beautiful words--I saw and felt someone strong in that poem.

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  8. This is simply gorgeous. Thank you for being so honest with us about the beauty of family and the gift writing can be in the midst of turmoil. I can see you are both a lovely daughter and mother.

    I cannot explain how your poem spoke to me, so I won't attempt to. But I will say this: thank you, Eden.

    All best. xoxo

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  9. Wow, the poem is powerful, but this part is so profound and enlightening:

    "I’ve taught my children to use this source of liberation. If they are angry or sad, let the words out. Put them on paper and let them out. Then, if you want to be rid of the anger, tear up that paper, Burn it, throw it away, flush it. The important thing is to let them out. Words are powerful and can tear you up inside if you don’t find a way to let them out."

    Such great advice. And true. Strength and prayers to you, Eden.

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  10. You are all so kind and talented and wise. I feel honoured to be counted among you. Thank you for listening.

    eden

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  11. Stellar writing. Stellar writer. Stellar advice. You make me proud to be in the writing business ... And to be your publisher.

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Thanks for adding to the mayhem!