“All through the summer that came after it, as I slid into grief’s silent central eye, falling asleep like a cat in sunny patches, on the corners of settees or curled on rugs, I dreamed that she wasn’t dead at all, and had only gone away without telling me; and now she had come back, forcing herself into the shadow-space of her absence—but she no longer fitted. Even in so short a time I had grown and changed—her house was gone and there was no bed for her in the flat.”
Jessie Greengrass’s Sight (2018)
What good books have you read lately? Have you read Jessie Greengrass?
Thank you for dropping by my blog. It was nice to hear from you! I hope you are doing okay – as well as one can living with grief and change. Sending love!
Thanks, Laila; I was happy to hear about all the success you’ve had with your new exercise trainer! Looking forward to more regular visits once more.
Marcie, I was so glad to see this pop-up, and what a beautiful quote – my cat is currently sitting in a shaft of light too. Hugs to you. I lost my mother 24 years ago, but I still feel that keen grief that I know you are experiencing. It does shift though, as Rebecca’s quote says. I hope you’re able to find small pleasures again, in the little things, like a cat sunning himself 🙂
That’s a beautiful quote. I haven’t read anything by Jessie Greengrass, but you make me want to now. I’m in Australia and have been doing some good reading lately, the highlight of which was The Narrow Road to the Deep North by Richard Flanagan.
I had been wondering how you are and if you might pop into my reader this summer. Rebecca’s comment brought tears to my eyes. Many years after losing my own mother, it rings true loud and clear. I do hope you’ve found support, love and comfort both from those around and in reading xx
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It’s good to see a post from you Marcie, I hope you’ve been feeling the support so many of us have been sending your way. I think Rebecca has put it very well, grief does change, but I feel as though my mother’s support and love don’t ever seem very far away. Surprisingly, as the years have passed that feeling has become even stronger, although there are still times I wish I could just pick up the phone and talk to her. May you continue to heal and gain strength from the strong bond you share with your mother.
Mothers. You make me realise how grateful I should be for my mum and often am not. 91 now, more bent over each year, but still living independently, she just keeps on keeping on, giving advice, telling us off, helping out. She’ll be here for Xmas, perfectly timed to meet her first great, great grandchild, in a great convocation of mothers and grandmothers and great grandmothers. How can you not love them all.
For you and for me, from A Life of One’s Own: Nine Women Writers Begin Again by Joanna Biggs: “One of my first feelings after my mother died was a sense that some margin between me and the world was gone; that the person I knew I could always turn to was no longer there. But grief shifts, changes, recedes, offers new ideas. Nearly three months after her death, I had a strong conviction that she wanted me to feel capable. It is my duty even to make good on her investment in me. She didn’t put years of effort into my life for me to collapse when she couldn’t be by my side any longer. The point was always for me to live on, and for her to become my ancestor.” Hugs!
So nice to see a post from you! I’ve been thinking about you and hope you are doing ok. I just read My Volcano by Stintzi and enjoyed its weirdness. And a book of essays by Elvia Wilk called Death by Landscape that was really interesting and one I think you might like.