I cheat on novel writing with poetry. It’s my closet pastime and private refuge. I don’t share it because I think sharing it could spoil a place I like to visit alone—and because I’ve never thought it was good enough.
Really good poetry to me is better than any novel. I wrote my senior thesis about a poet, got summer research fellowships in college to research poets, and remember my classes on poets better than any others. Poetry is where I go when I trip over feeling and land on my knees.
So seeing Colorado poet laureate
at the Paramount Theater in Denver last week was better than a dream—it was like one of those dreams where you just keep falling, and I loved it so much I forgot to try to wake up.***
For years, Andrea mined painful experiences like diamonds and ferried them into the light. Now, since being diagnosed with terminal cancer, Andrea writes about joy and beauty and awe.
Writes isn’t really the word, I realize now after seeing Andrea live. Andrea speaks poetry standing up and to music. Andrea sings poetry.
Andrea’s steady drip of wisdom that night not only slowed down time, but it turned mortality on its head. Mortality isn’t a dirty word, Andrea says. It is sweet and essential. Avoiding it does nothing for us. But talking about it opens us to wonder. Because we can’t feel beauty fully until we understand—really understand—that it will end.
***
David just finished The Comfort Crisis by Michael Easter. One of the most surprising parts of the book to him was that death awareness is good for us. People who think about death often live happier lives.
“Good thing I do this all the time,” I told him.
“I know,” he said. “You were the first thing I thought of when reading it.”
It was a romantic moment. Turns out my spouse’s morbidity is a key to happiness.
***
It’s so warm and light these days that Noa’s bedtime keeps creeping later, and we’ve started to take walks after dinner. The other night, we got three-quarters of the way around the block when Noa started walking on her knees.
David and I laughed and gently tugged her hands to move on. It was well past what used to be her bedtime hour, and we still needed to read, brush teeth, and negotiate the positioning of approximately 25 stuffed animals in her crib.
Noa had a different idea.
She let go of our hands, sat down on the broken sidewalk, stuck her legs out in front of her, and started to eat the blueberries in her snack container one-by-one.
“Come on,” she said. “Come on mama and dada, sit with me.” On the sidewalk.
I sat and tried not to think about ants crawling up her summer dress and ending up in her crib. David crouched down into a squat, hoping to get a stretch in.
“No dada, no. Sit all the way down,” Noa said.
I looked at him, and in the flash of a joint smile we decided to let go a little bit more.
David sat all the way down, and we were quiet together until there were only a few blueberries left.
“Let’s share these with the birds,” Noa said.
We each took one and threw it. Following the line of David’s blueberry, I noticed for the first time the sun perfectly positioned to make the tree in front of us look like those old Sunday-school pictures of God in backlight.
If I hadn’t just seen Andrea, if I hadn’t been popping their poems into stressful days like lifesavers, I probably would have made us keep walking.
Finally read your gorgeous words!!!! Gosh, I love this one so much it hurts. All of it. I felt like I was there with you guys on the sidewalk.
(I also think about death a LOT. 😂 I love how David thought of you.)
Keep goingggg. Hugs!
This was eerily timely. I have thought a lot about death and dying since I turned 70 a few months ago. but it really kicked into high gear when a close friend, seemingly very healthy, had three minor strokes. For some strange reason, she insisted her husband call me to escort them to the emergency room where he was planning to drive her - himself. She just wanted me there. After hanging up, I called back and insisted they call 911 - every minute makes a difference with a stroke - and promised I was on my way. My husband kicked into high gear and took control. He brought his blood pressure and oxygen device and when we arrived (before EMTs), he had already made her take an aspirin while I went outside to wave down the ambulance. These acts saved her from consequences and today she has fully recovered with no side effects. The doctors credited the things we told them to do. What made her call ME? I am a take charge person when it comes to legal issues, but there has never been any evidence of me knowing what to do in medical situations. perhaps she thought I could be calm if her husband lost it from emotions.
In any event, I have been borderline obsessed with my mortality (now, it has become my mobility) ever since. But amazingly, I’m so much happier! My 8-year old granddaughter called on a Thursday after the stroke event to tell me her choir would be performing on Tuesday. “Will you come?”, she asked. Within 15 minutes, I had booked a flight and called her back to say, “ of course!” The ear-to-ear smile on her face when I arrived and her never-let-going of my hand while I was visiting, was worth it all. I still feel warm all over when I remember it and look at the pictures. I’m happy I went. That happiness lingers and follows me around, even now.
Same as to a request to fly to Denver to have a sleepover with Noa at our tiny condo 2 miles from her house ( that we bought so we could visit hassle free) to help out for David’s race when Mom would be out of town. Even after Mom’s trip got canceled, I was not about to cancel my sleepover with Noa. Noa centers me to the core with her innocent and accurate realizations. Her comments make me take a second look at who is saying them —is it possible for those words of wisdom to be coming out of her 2-1/2 year old mouth? Most toddlers her age cannot even speak in full sentences! And I look forward to flying back for a week in a few months to enjoy Noa while Mom and Dadda are away. That is medicine for the soul.
The happiness of the memory lasts far longer than the moment it occurred. Happy to be alive TODAY and cognizant of the fact that I wont be around forever. And not in a morbid or dark way. Rather, in a full feeling of contentment and happiness that I am enjoying life now, for as long as it lasts. And that the people who share in those moments will make me live even longer, even if only in their memories. 😁🥰.
So, yes, I am proof that death awareness is good for us. It has been for me..