Grieving, Jenny Diski’s In Gratitude, Losing a Loved One, Winter Returns

Grieving – Having just finished Jenny Diski’s excellent memoir In Gratitude on her own experience of dying (and the death of her mentor, Doris Lessing) I learned one of my favorite relatives, my Aunt Charlotte, died unexpectedly of complications from the flu this morning. This is in the middle of a house in the middle of reconstruction, dust and drills, of course, as grief never happens in the proper time or place. And it seems there has been a return of winter this week – several dustings of snow and more alarming, icy roads, right when I was hoping for spring.

I probably won’t be able to fly cross-country for the funeral – a hardship to travel  these days health-wise – but I hope she is celebrated for her good spirit and her nurturing ways. She had the most beautiful name – Charlotte – which I think is too rare, much like her, a woman devoted to her family (her son and husband had passed away within the last year) and to helping others, and a cheering influence on me in the early days of my health troubles in Virginia, way before I was diagnosed with most of the things that would eventually be found later by other, better specialists.

How is it there is never space for death and time to grieve, that people often end up dead too quickly to say goodbye (my aunt had just been discharged from the hospital – apparently too soon – and I was waiting to call until she felt a little bit better.) I was planning my own funeral around this time last year, I remember taking pictures of the cherry blossoms wondering if I would live to see another round, the death sentence had been passed (perhaps a little early) on me by all-knowing and very experienced doctors, and I was picking out music and where I wanted my ashes scattered, who I wanted to have my books and art (the only things I have worth anything, really.) But then I didn’t die, I’m still alive, still dealing with the messy realities of many many specialist and therapy appointments for my various medical things related to 1. liver full of tumors and 2. brain full of lesions among other lesser issues like asthma. And living is complicated and full of irritations – side effects of drugs, obstacles to our goals, not enough time paid having fun, too much time in lines or working on grant applications or taxes. Life’s little annoyances take up our brainspace, we forget to say “I love you” or prioritize spending time with loved ones doing the things that make life worth living, thinking life goes on forever.

Jenny starts off the memoir making “Breaking Bad” jokes but ends up, you can tell, irritable at the limitations of her body, the side effects of chemo, radiation and steroids, her falls and lack of concentration. You can watch her brilliant mind trick off her memories of the sixties and eighties and the things she learned about life, art, and family along the way. She had a hard life but didn’t really complain about it – in some ways she had a magic life, being taken in by a leading novelist when her goal was to be a writer, adopting Sylvia Plath’s very own kitten (given to Doris at the time of Sylvia’s demise, and passed along to Jenny) and generally having many extraordinary experiences, and ending fairly happy and fairly successful, though her end was not easy. (Jenny died of a mix of lung cancer and pulmonary fibrosis, quite similar to my aunt whose lung problems – COPD – complicated her ability to fight this year’s extraordinary nasty flu virus. Lungs are such delicate instruments and so susceptible in even people with the strongest spirits.)

Anyway, where is the space is Western life – between work and play, social media and in-person gatherings – for grief? How uncomfortable are we with the realities of death and dying, our own mortalities, that we rush to comfort people with platitudes. After a week of bitter cold, rain, and snow, the sun is shining right now out my window, and the sounds of the drills and hammers are quiet. My husband is not here. If I wanted to spend time crying I could. But I am a person who deals with hard things by writing about them. I did think it was appropriate to include this recent picture of the first crocus here, as my aunt was an avid gardener who loved flowers.  I hope wherever you are is full of flowers, Aunt Charlotte.