The problem of the dead taking up space is that there is not a lot of room left for the living. Continue reading
Category Archives: Repeat after me: death. And other essays.
#5 The First Lasts, The First Withouts
Before words, before thoughts, there is a feeling. It is from this feeling that everything else comes. Like the small rock that starts the avalanche, it is that feeling that grips you tight and refuses to let you go. If you’re expecting me to recount an exact date or time when my avalanche started, I … Continue reading
#4 The Inheritance
I have my Father’s eyes Almost green-grey. I have my Father’s height. I have his love of reading books. I have his impatience. I have his nose. I have my Father’s fierce loyalty. I have his toes. I have my Father’s fine, wispy hair. I have my Father’s bad eyesight. For that, I have glasses. … Continue reading
#3 Grief Like Mine
Grief is grief. There are no Grief Olympics were families and friends compete for the prize of feeling the most shit about losing the person they loved. Posting “RIP” on Facebook does not make you better or worse than someone who doesn’t. Continue reading
#2 Lessons from a dying bird
I am not sure that I can say this with much certainty, but I think the chickens preferred adventure novels best. I remember reading them passages from Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Jungle Book, and Charlotte’s Web. The adventure novels, I thought, helped the chickens relax. With each word I could see their feathers flatten, their walk become a little slower, and their clucks morph into a strange purr. The chickens and I were adventurers at heart. Continue reading
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