Sep 29, 2009
commented on September 29
I am lucky enough to be Phoenix's mom (as well as our youngest son, Gabriel) and to have Jen as my best friend. She is indeed remarkable and I am lucky in that as well.
I don't think it is easier to lose a child now than it used to be. I have talked to very old women who lost a child 60 and 70 years ago who, to their own dying days, hungered to speak of the child they lost and in that, claim them again as their own. I have seen that love expressed in the writings of bereaved parents of long ago and in a historic cemetery dotted with majestic monuments to children who died 100 years ago.
Last year, on the anniversary of Phoenix’s death, I cleaned the ancient grave of a child buried not far from my son underneath all the years of accumulated grime, found the remnants of an inscription that said, "… all the light, all the joy we buried with our darling boy." A friend who lost a teenage son told me she didn't think it was possible to love a child any more that you do at the time they die - and I don't think the ferocity of that love changes through the centuries.
In that enduring love is life. As one commenter noted, it is the life that went before the death that matters most. Phoenix's short life was brilliant and full of love and laughter. and I will always be proud to be his mother.
On today, the anniversary of Jen's miscarriage, I am also thinking of another little being who will not be forgotten. I remember.
Sep 4, 2009
commented on Yeats Motel
I think some readers may be missing the point. The story, to me, is a real, rich and multi-dimensional look at these dorms and the people who have been there before and are there now. It's not about - or as simple - as whether they're "good" or "bad," but rather the piece explores the merging of the present and future with the physical history of these buildings. Rather than malign that, Jen is paying tribute. After all, who are we but the sum of our experiences and our hope for the future? True for buildings too, I think.