To Love What is Mortal
A collective cry for loss in 2023
Good and Beautiful Things/Issue #45
(Truffles)
The four of us are gathered in the small upstairs bathroom. Our faces are red from the space heater meant to keep Truffles warm.
We aren’t sure yet but we think our pet is dying.
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The night before all of this happens I watched American Symphony, a documentary centered around Jon Batiste and Suleika Jaouad. It’s their story of musical accolades and returning cancer and the tricky world of holding them both.
In one scene Batiste sits at the piano in Carnegie Hall while the voices and instruments around him begin to cry out. Batiste joins and lifts his voice until it hovers just on the edge of a scream.
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(Truffles)
The changing breath pattern of our guinea pig pulls up other memories, tangled scenes of loss that show up out of sequence. Memories that hover on the edge of a scream:
our first guinea pig dying…
the unexpected death of our sweet rabbit just a few months ago…
waiting as our four-day-old daughter underwent open-heart surgery…
my Dad’s last breaths…
the last terrifying moments of the children and adults killed in the Covenant School Shooting1 this past March…
the daily news of war and death…
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Back at Carnegie Hall, the cacophony of voices meld into an untethered wail.
Wailing at Covid’s destruction..at the political insanity that broke communities and families…at the lack of justice in this world…at cancer and its endless prey.2
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(Truffles)
I think we’re near the end, my husband tells us as he strokes Truffles’ bed-head fur.
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In the scene where Jaouad prepares to leave the hospital, we hear her voice:
”You’re meant to return from the hardest moments of your life stronger and braver and more of a warrior for what you’ve been through.
I don’t wanna have tough skin. I want to feel the things that are happening to me. The terrible things, the beautiful things, I want to be open to it all.”
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(Truffles)
I think of Jaouad’s words and how they echo my own heart’s desire. For the last few years I’ve been trying to soften my skin instead of toughen it. But in this moment the idea of feeling everything seems harder than it did last night.
We say our final goodbye to Truffles.
After it’s over, I remind the kids, God hates death, too.
Jesus wept even when he knew Lazarus would be alive again in a matter of moments, resurrected by his own hand.
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In another scene, Batiste and Jaouad walk down the hospital hallway together, wheeling her tower of tubes between them. As they walk they play a game. She squats down, he squats down, she taps his arm, he taps her own, she does a little sideways shuffle step, he mirrors her rhythm.
The song Lean on me plays on Batiste’s phone.
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To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.
-Mary Oliver, from At Blackwater Pond
This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "365 Words".
The first part of this newsletter is my response to a prompt from my writing community: to capture an aspect of my year in 365 words. At my last count I had 478 words which did not include the poem excerpt. So I broke the rules but I think I stuck to the heart of the challenge.
Within the archives of Good and Beautiful Things, you’ll find other parts of my year that were centered around joy instead of grief (or sometimes both). Like my bike rides or getting kayaks for our anniversary or seeing Maine for the first time or celebrating my birthday with my family or making art (and even sending some art overseas).
I want to thank everyone who has visited or subscribed to my newsletter this year. Your support and encouraging words have kept the fire burning. It’s been a delight to show up in this space fifty-nine times since last December!
My plan is to take a break for the next two weeks. I may surprise myself and show up with a new issue sooner than that but for now the only thing in front of me is spending time with my family.
If you’d like to support the writing and art that I create for this newsletter, you can now contribute to my art supply fund through “Buy me a Coffee”!
Blessings from the Guest Nest,
-Aimee
My thoughts on the meaning behind moments of the symphony directed by Batiste are my own interpretation. Much of the film seemed to take place during the height of the pandemic.
We lost a pet earlier this year too--our cat--and your description of sitting with Truffles was so familiar. I've also reflected on the passage of Jesus weeping at Lazarus' grave, even knowing he was going to resurrect him. What a lovely reminder that God does hate death too, and that he's there with us in it.
Grief and joy live closely together, don’t they? Just today as I was getting my hair done and discussing my gray with my beautician, I pulled out my phone to show her a pic of my mom, who had mostly dark hair until her death at 83. My beautician pointed out the little bits of gray that mom did have were in the same places mine is showing up. Suddenly, I was filled with such a deep love for my mom and sadness at her absence. 😢 Feeling all the feels at this time of year.
Enjoy your break and that precious family time! So glad to have made your acquaintance this year!