Nuance - There is no mystery In an onion—tear away All the tissue-thin Layers one by one. You’ll find Nothing irreducible.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Days of Death
We heard the news yesterday. Our neighbours' son had committed suicide. He'd been missing for a couple of days, and the family was frantic.
A hunter found the body in a nearby quarry. Now the family is devastated. Nothing will ever be the same again: no sunrise, no sunset, no turn of the season, no lightness--or light--on the horizon.
We have words for nearly every loss but this one, Marike points out. Widow, widower, orphan. But what do we call it when a parent loses a child? It's unspeakable. The kind of loss you do not recover from.
We gather in small groups at their house. Everyone brings food, but no one is hungry. What I put in my mouth turns to stone in my stomach the mother says.
None of us know what to do, neither we nor they. We stand around, talk, don't talk, some cry, some laugh. Coffee percolates through the pot, over and over.
The food, Marike points out later, is an admission of impotence, of incompetence. See here, we're with you--we don't know what else to do either!
Finally I take my camera and walk along the road. I frame dead leaves in the memory of this one, a reflection as I think of another. The cold damp, the rotting leaves, the falling dark are apt, words without words on this sorrowful day.
We are all here to tend towards death, says another neighbour. This is true, but it is no consolation.
Remembering, among many, these near anniversaries:
Travis Watt (8 February 1976--28 October 2010)
Bill Readings (5 February 1960--31 October 1994)
Ann Smith (5 October 1918--25 November 2002)