I resonate with this - writing as a bridge over grief. As you say, not everyone, not every writer, knows grief. But those who know it must write or speak it. What’s that famous line in Macbeth? “Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.” In the language of my family’s faith community-your father’s, too-we would talk about the cloud of witnesses and the thinness of the veil. Perhaps can be a way of telescoping time and space - finding that portal, as you say.
It's funny you mention my father's faith. Over and over he gives written voice to his hopes that I'd become a Jesuit or a bishop. Putting the BVM in each of my "oh, Mary!" outbursts.
I need him back if only to explain why that never would have worked and why I, and he, can't regret that.
So many things to discuss with our parents who left us so long ago, in another age of our lives and this world. I find myself talking to them sometimes.
I resonate with this - writing as a bridge over grief. As you say, not everyone, not every writer, knows grief. But those who know it must write or speak it. What’s that famous line in Macbeth? “Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.” In the language of my family’s faith community-your father’s, too-we would talk about the cloud of witnesses and the thinness of the veil. Perhaps can be a way of telescoping time and space - finding that portal, as you say.
It's funny you mention my father's faith. Over and over he gives written voice to his hopes that I'd become a Jesuit or a bishop. Putting the BVM in each of my "oh, Mary!" outbursts.
I need him back if only to explain why that never would have worked and why I, and he, can't regret that.
So many things to discuss with our parents who left us so long ago, in another age of our lives and this world. I find myself talking to them sometimes.