My grandfather has this sweater he’d wear constantly. Blue with black patterning. It’s hard to conjure up a memory with him not wearing it. He had it so long, the wrists wore through and my grandma had to sew them up. After he died I asked if I could have it. I wear it sometimes.
The last week of May always reminds me of trips to and from the hospital, navigating the back streets of the city in the car with my mom and my grandmother. One trip stands out. I am not sure how close he was, if we were right in the middle of it or nearing the end, but it was a beautiful day and I made a mental note to remember that. I can still see the houses, the trees and the shadows they cast in the sun. I don’t know why I told myself not to forget that exact moment but it’s stuck in my head and it is so vivid.
Waiting rooms. Soft cushy chairs and couches, the carpets. Standing outside the hospital at night, watching people go in and out. How the air felt out there. I remember the breeze exactly.
This is probably so morbid, but if there is one subject I think I could write about over and over again, it’s loss and grief. The way it transforms us. I will never stop being fascinated by the inescapable reality of losing people and the the things we carry after someone we love has gone. How we cope. The questions that kind of loss inspires.
I try to carve out answers in books, one published, one to be published, lots not, knowing full well I’m not going to come away anymore satisfied than I was when I started. I just end up with more questions, which almost inevitably become more books. But there’s something in asking those questions out loud, I think.
Sometimes it’s not just asking those questions, but trying to articulate a certain feeling–physical and emotional–so it can be more understood, so there is less loneliness in having it. Like, I’ve always wanted to know if everyone’s throat gets so constricted it aches right at the top and it’s like there’s something there you can’t even swallow around? And it hurts so much you can’t even speak. But in that exact spot. At the top of the back of your throat? It’s sort of like how I get brain freeze except not, which is totally weird, I know, but the best way I can describe it. Or how grief can make your skin feel like an electric bruise.
Fall For Anything is a book about grief and loss. It was a hard book to write. Sometimes it would veer left when I thought it should be going right and other times it was just the opposite, but in the end I think it did what it was supposed to and I think everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be on the last page. Mostly, I wanted it to be honest. Peeling off a band-aid. At one point in the book, Eddie thinks, I think to find some kind of understanding, you have to be as close to the truth as you can get to it. I believe in that, whenever I write and whatever I write. Otherwise, what is the point?
I drafted Some Girls Are at my grandparents’ house, that summer. It is not a book about death, which is sort of funny because I was surrounded by my grandfather’s absence when I wrote it. I wrote in the kitchen all through the night and I always had a bottle of water, a cup of coffee and a can of coke next to my laptop. Sometimes, when I was stuck, I would wander into the dining room, where there are photographs of him. I would look at them. I would go back into the kitchen. I would sit in his chair. I would get back to work.
It will be two years this Thursday.
We put a solar light on his gravestone. I like to go past it when we’re in the car at night and see it.
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publication date
Tuesday June 1st, 2010 @ 1:00pm
700 words, 50 sentencesmeta stuff
categories: fall for anything,personal,writing
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what a beautiful post.
a truly, truly beautiful post.
thank you so much for sharing.
your grandfather sounds like an excellent man.
<3333
Writing to find an answer (or to realize you need to ask more questions…) is the cheapest type of therapy. The beauty of it, I think, is when your answer can become an answer for somebody else.
T: Thank you. He was. <3
Bryan: I definitely agree with that.
A beautiful, sad post, Courtney. Makes me think about so much in my own life. My grandmother, who passed away several summers ago, inspires much of my own writing. Funny how those things that affect us most become part of our writing, consciously and unconsciously. I guess if they weren’t that powerful to us, our words wouldn’t be that powerful either.
Your words are beautiful, Courtney. :)
I’ve never been big on the emotional goo that comes with grief. Heh, even the grieving protagonist in the story I’m writing skirts around the subject – or else thinks of it in a blase manner – for a huge majority of the time, obviously as her way of dealing (though she’d deny it).
But then there’s that 5% where it all comes to head. It’s sort of like a bolt of lightning in any story. That bolt is so universal & looked on with both fear and awe. That bolt is heartbreaking &, like you said, life-changing. I wonder if many people would have it another way.
You are such a beautiful person. It never fails to amaze me.
Right now, you are my favorite writer.
I wholeheartedly concur.
ILUCP.
I tried to just leave a heart, but WordPress wouldn’t let me. <3.
Anne: Thank you so much. And this, what you said: “I guess if they weren’t that powerful to us, our words wouldn’t be that powerful either.” Is beautiful and so spot on.
Emilia: Thank you. :) The best, well not BEST thing about grief but one of the most interesting things I think, is that there is no right or wrong way to cope with it. And I agree–I wonder if people would have it another way too.
Robby: Thank you so much!
Annika: Hearts to you, woman.
Briony: You are never far from my thoughts. <3 much love.
A: <3
This is such a beautiful post, and I agree with writing to find answers. Especially since sometimes, even in your darkest moments, your questions can’t be answered by anyone else but yourself, and your characters, who evolve from your emotions.
Raven: Thank you. And very well said–sometimes you have to turn to yourself for sure.
I’ve never lost anyone to death and once people find that out it’s like I’m excluded from this club and no one thinks I can possibly know anything about grief. I’ve just come to think it’s a little funny.
p.s. I’m just so happy your books somehow landed in my lap. <3
S: Aw! I don’t think grief should be an exclusive club. But some people do close themselves off to those who haven’t experienced it (I don’t know why–I’ve gotten incredible guidance from those who haven’t had a major loss in their life yet).
I’m happy they have too! Especially if you are. :) Thanks for saying so!
“And it hurts so much you can’t even speak. But in that exact spot. At the top of the back of your throat?”
That’s exactly how it feels. And I love when you write about your grandfather. Sometimes it seems that grief pushes us into this hyper-reality; it can be so intense that it changes our perceptions of everything.
Your book sounds amazing – like it will break my heart. The two books I’ve been writing back to back are both about grief and loss so I guess I’m drawn to the subject too. Did you find that writing about the topic took a big emotional toil or was it therapeutic? I’ve felt, at time, so exhausted by it.
Courtney, I can’t tell you how this post made me feel. Thanks for sharing your grandpa. I lost my grandpa last year..the 7th of this month marks one year. My grandpa was like my best friend, and when he left I knew I just had to finish my book. It was like carpe diem. I was so mad at myself for not finishing it while he was still with us, because I wanted him to see it so much…
And you are so right. I think grief and loss creeps into what I write over and over again. My present WiP deals majorly with grief and loss. I don’t think you ever really come to terms with it. It probably just becomes a part of your life.
Your ability to drill to the marrow of an emotion, or experience, continues to amaze me. Thanks for sharing your gift with all of us. :)
SO glad you shared this. <3
~*<3*~
*hugs* BB.
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You are so great.
I think everyone experiences grief a bit differently. I relate with the constricty throat feeling. The electric bruisey feeling, not so much. It’s like Grief rolls the dice to decide how it’ll go about kicking your ass.
i kept my fathers leather jacket. it’s made of crocodile skin, from back when it was acceptable to do such things, and he bought it when he was young, in the early 80s. it’s smaller than most of my things, so it doesn’t always fit, but when it does, it makes me feel better about missing him, rather than so suppressed, which is how i usually feel.
i’m sorry that this is how it is. there really isn’t a way of going back. we do carry this with us for the rest of our lives.
Wonderful post Courtney. Thank you for writing it.
I lost my mother almost two and a half years ago and she has definitely influenced my writing. I like to think that because of her, my female characters tend to be stronger than many of my male characters.
Experiencing death in your life has a way of motivating you to make every day in your own life count, especially as a writer. Ever since the death of my mom, I’ve found myself obsessing about rushing the stories out of my head before some strange, untimely death takes hold of me. Of course I guess we are all racing against time. I guess one just hopes the race will be worth running.
Again, thanks for posting this Courtney.
C.K.: YES, a hyper-reality, that is exactly what it is. What a perfect way to put it. It’s just exactly that. It is a compelling subject isn’t it? I felt exhausted writing Eddie, going through the revision process especially. Did you? Two back to back. How often do you need to step away if at all?
Bee: We sound like we had similar relationships with our grandparents. Thank you for sharing about yours as well, and I’m very sorry for your loss. It’s so hard to reach certain milestones in their absence, isn’t it? It is very much a part of life.
Sue: Thank you. :)
shabbygeek: <3
Emily: <3 <3 <3 *hugs*
Phronk: Thanks. AMEN re: your last sentence there. Damn yes.
kelvin: I think of you when I think about these things. I’m glad you have his jacket though, for all of those reasons… we do carry it forever. much love.
Doug: Thank you for commenting & for sharing your experience and how it has affected your own writing. I’m so sorry for your loss of your mother. That has to be incredibly tough. And I definitely know what you mean–I forget which writer it was, but they asked why he wrote and he said, “Fear of death!” It is a race, isn’t it. Thanks for commenting.
Courtney, I think if I were smart I probably would have tried to step away more but no, I just let it drag me into darkness. Now that it’s summer, combined with the fact that my main character has rounded the corner, it’s not nearly as bad, but yeah, overall exhausting.
I’m so glad you’re done with those revisions and can now hopefully recharge your batteries!
I wear one of my dad’s sweaters. It’s odd actually, it’s an old sweater, typical of the type of sweater he wore with a collared shirt underneath. I wear it alone (not entirely alone, I wear pants), and have so many people comment on it, how it looks so comfy and suits me.
This post is full of emotions, and I’m glad that you shared it with me. I do believe that grief, heartache, and other strong emotions cause people to write, because it really is on way of getting things of someones chest. When we speak it all out loud, it comes out differently, but when we write it’s like our thoughts on paper. (or computer.)
“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.”
sierra.
Campbell: That’s wonderful. thank you for sharing that.
Sierra: Thank you so much for taking the time to comment on this post. And that quote is beautiful and very true.
Wow. Especially this: “This is probably so morbid, but if there is one subject I think I could write about over and over again, it’s loss and grief. The way it transforms us. I will never stop being fascinated by the inescapable reality of losing people and the the things we carry after someone we love has gone. How we cope. The questions that kind of loss inspires.”
This is why I love your books. They get to the heart of things and the inescapable reality, no matter what that reality is.
I’m drawn to grief and loss as well, but haven’t been able to get to the place you have with it – yet. Your description of the throat constricting is exactly it. I guess the difference between us is that I try to diffuse/avoid/mask the pain with humor (and sometimes supernatural creatures). The heart wrenching stuff is there, just not on the page. Hopefully I’ll be able to get there some day, to mix a little of the sad with the humor.
Thanks for sharing the wonderful memories of your grandfather and how you are able to stay close to him. <333
I think humor is so important and bringing that to people, and using it as a way to process, is so incredibly important. I love what you do, Stephanie, and what you put out there. Thank you for such an awesome comment. <3
<3 <3 <3 Thanks!!!
“This is probably so morbid, but if there is one subject I think I could write about over and over again, it’s loss and grief. The way it transforms us. I will never stop being fascinated by the inescapable reality of losing people and the the things we carry after someone we love has gone. How we cope. The questions that kind of loss inspires.”
You said that better than I ever could have haha. I definitely agree and it fascinates me also. I write as well and I find that tackling subjects such as loss and grief as well as other often difficult and saddening topics come easiest to me. It’s the light and fun stuff that I really have to work at.
Same here, Michelle!