“Write what haunts you, lest you spend your life amidst drivel. Write what you care most about, the beauty, the absurdity, and the sorrow of the world.”–Jane Resh Thomas
In the quiet of an unoccupied room, I exhale the words I’ve just read in a whisper… “Write what haunts you…”
Had you asked me prior to my mother’s death if I thought it would be tough to lose her, I would have said no. So I was ill-prepared for the grief that would settle over me after the details of dismantling her material life in Portland, Oregon, were checked off my list.
The truth is–just as I did while she was living–I have missed her. After all, isn’t it absence that leaves us yearning?
Into the small U-haul we rented to tow back to California, alongside other beloved treasures, we packed four enormous boxes, boxes chock-full of what I had saved of her writing.
When finally the rush of metal wheels rolled the trailer door shut, the speed at which the previously sunlit draped boxes disappeared was equal to the short-lived euphoria I felt for having emptied her house.
Afterward, I stood in the center of what days ago had been her living room, and the slow creep of reality stung me; the countless times I had helped move, first my parents, then later just my mother, were over.
They were gone.
Hours later, Portland had vanished, and California stretched out in front of us like a dream. As the miles rolled away, my mind teased the idea that in the back of the trailer, inside the taped-up boxes, were insights into some of what my mother kept closed away.
Once home, much like a miner, I excavated the contents of the boxes.
Among the pages were the ingredients of her living–a pinch of this and a dash of that. I poured over her words: poetry, essays, and short stories, some finished, others not. And with each word, the sound of her voice spread through me as if a heartbeat…
Now the words that arrested me earlier again rise like a refrain…
Write what you care most about, the beauty, the absurdity, and the sorrow of the world…
Indeed. My mother did just that. She was a wonderful writer, a gift I dare say I am grateful she did not squander.
…write what haunts you.
Oh, Elin, this is so beautiful, so honest, so raw. Now I see where you got your gift. I especially love “After all, isn’t it absence which leaves us yearning?” I’m so proud of you for having the courage to write about what haunts you and I hope your words heal you the way they do everyone who reads them. xo
What a lovely comment Lois, thank you. As you are aware this post has been percolating for a while… I actually do feel the malaise of grief lifting and for that I am grateful. xo
Elin,
So glad the haunting quote inspired you! I’m going to keep it near me, too. Your piece is lovely and so is your mom’s poem.
Thank you Barbara, I appreciate your being here today and your share!
These words are beautiful and honest, Elin. The imagery of the trailer door slamming shut is powerful, and I could feel the miasma of emotions swirling inside you as you drove home. I hope the love of your family and friends gets you through this tough time. Hugs.
Thank you Helene.
So well written…and raw! Thanks for sharing your pain and sorrow as well as the beauty of the words. Hugs to you during this time! 🙂
Thanks for the hug! It has been a journey for sure, thanks also for your nice comment and for being here today.
How honest and moving… “Write what you care most about, the beauty, the absurdity, and the sorrow of the world.” That is why I finally realized I had to be a blogger, because nobody else wanted to hear these things from me… — LLC
Thank you Laura Lee, I appreciate your being here today.
The pain of losing a parent is so hard to understand until it happens. Your mother left you a wonderful legacy of her writing, and clearly you have inherited her talent with words.
Thank you Sharon…
Elin, as I read this I’m in the waiting room waiting for my mom to get out of surgery for the wrist she broke yesterday when she fell. At 85 I know my time with her is precious. Your words and your mothers are beautiful. I will hold your words close as I spend another restless night with my mom in the hospital.
Connie, So sorry to hear about your mom’s fall and subsequent surgery, wishing you both great strength. Thank you for your kind words about my post. Hugs to you
Oh, wow. This takes my breath away. So true, so powerful. YES. I find myself returning over and over again to the same themes, and I think of them as the black hole that my life circles around, drawn against my will, almost … I guess they are what haunt me!? xox
Although we have not met in person (yet), I swear you are a kindred spirit. Thank you for being here today. xo
Your Mother lives on and speaks to you through her written words. I imagine this must be very comforting to you… I hope it is.
Thank you for sharing. xoxo
Thank you Janet. xoxo