I’m not sure how I should start this letter to you. Because what I want to tell you about is how I lost my grandpa a couple weeks ago. But then I’m afraid you might think this is a letter about grief.
It is, but it isn’t.
I also want to tell you about my friends and the difficult thing about what we say and don’t say. But then I’m afraid you might think this is a letter about friendship.
It is, but it isn’t.
I also want to tell you about the joke I told my grandpa while sitting beside him in the gloomy hospital room, and the smile that burst across his face so familiar and warm to me, and the laughter that felt like grief already healing before it had begun. But then I’m afraid you might think this is a letter about joy.
It is, but it isn’t.
I suppose the only thing I can do is to tell you the story as I remember it and let you decide what it’s about.
Like last month’s letter, this one begins on a highway. But this time it’s a Wednesday in early February, very early in the morning, and I was alone, enroute to a hospital in Wisconsin where I would say goodbye to my grandpa, for one last time. My grandpa was 95 years young. His body was ready to leave this earth, or return to it, actually. The night before I was told he might not make it to morning. I was going anyway. I needed to try.
Five hours on an empty highway is a long time to think about sadness. It didn’t help that I had other griefs on my mind. Good griefs, but griefs all the same. Is there such a thing as a good grief?
The “good grief” I speak of was an essay of mine that was published that same morning while I drove to the hospital to see my grandpa. The “good” is that I am proud of the essay–proud of the way I poured my heart and soul and fingertips into it. The “grief” is that the story is still hard. It’s about my friends, their grief, and how I stumbled through it with them. The vulnerability of sharing my heart hung over me like the clouds on that winter morning. Is it always cloudy when someone is dying?
I shared this already, but for the sake of this story I want to share it again: the struggle I had with this particular essay was I was trying to write in the happy ending, because there really was a happy ending, of sorts. But the story wasn’t about happy endings. It was about what it feels like to be in the middle of a story without knowing the ending. That was the story I needed to write because that was the story I needed to learn, am still learning.
Not every story requires a happy ending. I know this, I know this, I know this, I thought, as I got closer down the road that would lead me to my grandpa and a goodbye.
No, not every story requires a happy ending. But is it wrong to still look for it, still hope for it, still long for it?
Through many, many, many edits, I finally learned to tell the story that needed to be told in that essay. But I knew it wasn’t the whole story. In writing we must always choose what to put in but also what to leave out, all for the sake of telling the right story. In this particular essay, what had to be left out was the laughter, the fun, the joy of friendship. In fact, laughter as healing seems to be a constant thread in our friendship. When life gets shitty, we lean into a well timed joke, a romcom to distract us, a funny GIF in a group chat. We grieve, and then we laugh. I’m so very grateful for that gift of joy. It saves me every time.
Is reaching for laughter like longing for a happy ending? And if so, is this wrong? Don’t we need laughter as much as tears? Can we have both?
I think we can.
Five hours down the road later, I eased my car into the hospital parking lot, turned off the ignition, and then sat, motionless in the driver’s seat. Was I scared? Yes, the stillness did feel like fear. I didn’t know how to be sad around my grandpa. And I didn’t want to be.
Maybe I didn’t have to be, I wondered.
Maybe, like my friends, I could choose laughter.
I wasn’t sure what would be greeting me in that hospital room. Would my grandpa recognize me? Would he be in pain? Would he be sleeping? I didn’t know the end to this story.
But I did know how to make my grandpa laugh.
So before stepping out of the car, I googled “Golf Jokes,” because those were always my grandpa’s favorites. I found an easy one I could remember, and then walked into the hospital and toward an ending, still hoping to find the happiness in it.
Today, as I sat down to write this letter to you, I struggled with how I wanted to tell the story. When I am stuck, I always turn to Mary Oliver. As my friend Molly said in her newsletter last month, Mary always knows just what to say. And, of course, she was right. Mary did know what to say. Tears streamed down my face, the sign of both grief and joy, as I read these words like they were my own:
I Have Just Said — Mary Oliver
I have just said
Something
Ridiculous to you
And in response,
Your glorious laughter.
These are the days
The sun
Is swimming back
To the east
And the light on the water
Gleams
As never, it seems, before.
I can’t remember
Every spring,
I can’t remember
Everything-
So many years!
Are the morning kisses
The sweetest
Or the evenings
Or the inbetweens?
All I know
Is that “thank you” should appear
Somewhere.
So, just in case
I can’t find
The perfect place-
“Thank you, thank you.”
So you see, this is a letter about grief and friendship and joy, but also it isn’t. I think what it’s really about is just as Mary said.
It’s about saying something ridiculous, whether in a joke to a beloved Grandpa or in an essay to dear friends, and then hoping it says what you really want to say:
Thank you, thank you.
Cheers to your own search for happy endings, friends. Also, thank you, thank you.
Rachel
The following newsletter brought to you in Olympics GIFs. Yay sports!
SPEAKING OF…
a series where I string together all the things I’ve been meaning to tell you.
Speaking of things that are making me laugh…
I’m pulling this together the day after the Super Bowl and what keeps distracting me in the best kind of way is all of the response to the halftime show. A conversation with my mom this morning:
The internet really seems to be the winner of things I love from this last month, and by internet I mean blog reading and videos and memes because that’s my favorite part of the internet, not the weird mean convos or long complicated reading stuff. Here are a few examples:
Remember blogging daily? I miss those days. Rach Kincaid, who’s words are always a breath of fresh air, is off the soash meeds but regularly on her blog and I love it all. Also my friend Molly is doing this really fantastic project with her old journals and I just adore it.
I am also enjoying the olympics on the internet. The olympics are a complicated thing to love (this is a great listen if you too are conflicted) and yet still I do. The Olympics Instagram account has been so entertaining. Like this incredible workout, and this one too. Also this little snowboarder. And this skater (can you even with that flip? Obsessed.) Maybe it’s all wrong but still watching people do what they love is so satisfying to me. That’s where I stand on all of it.
In addition, are you Taylordling? There were a couple weeks when I got the answer correct IN THE FIRST GUESS! I am not great at Wordle so this felt very empowering to me. My brother says I cheat because I browse all the album collections for word ideas. And to that I say “you say I did something bad. But why's it feel so good?”
Speaking of playing games…
I introduced the game Azul to my valentine for date nights, or regular Monday nights, as a great alternative to side by side scrolling. Pairs well with Olympic watching. Also I won at least one game which says a lot for me.
Speaking of my valentine…
Mike gave me a gift the day before Valentine’s day with the preface “Valentine’s Day is dumb. But you know what, Fuck it. I love you and wanted to get you something.” Romance is alive and well over here. It was a weighted blanket and OHHHEMMMGEEE. I needed this cozy piece of heaven in my life yesterday.
Speaking of weighted blankets…
This cocktail was a fave from last month. I made it for my writing gal pals and we called it the writing cardigan (equally as cozy and comforting as a weighted blanket) but for the general population I renamed it as The Weighted Blanket for when you need a little extra support on those days that just don’t seem to be going your way.
Speaking of cozy…
Let’s talk food.
These pancakes are so crispy and buttery and a great way to work through that tub of ghee you bought at Costco.
Last month I asked for recipes and so many of you steered me towards some great ones. Meanwhile, I remembered these date waffles from Smitten Kitchen and served them up for our Valentine Brinner to great applause and love from all. The caramel sauce is amazing but not necessary.
My sis and her family came for a visit and I realized I needed to make lunch without planning. I used this lemony orzo chicken soup as a base but then subbed orzo with rice, subbed any of the vegetables and chicken with a random assortment of 5 different bags of veggies and a can of chickpeas. So basically the only part of the recipe I followed was the end with the avgolemono part, which is the best part anyway. Highly recommend, and have fun making it your own from the leftovers in your fridge.
Also we put this cassoulet in the slow cooker all afternoon while we skied and played. By the time we had the kids to bed, it was ready for us to dig in, and get into a game of Azul. We’ve made this before for an easy dinner party and it is a magically great dish I was happy to return to.
Speaking of returning to things you love…
Reading books came back to me this month, mostly helped by the many hours in a car and on my cross country skis.
The Four Winds was depressing but also beautiful and this is why I love Kristin Hannah. Both my grandmothers lived through the Great Depression and reading about it fascinated me.
Loved Lianne Moriarty’s latest Apples Never Fall. I was particularly fascinated to read it from a writing standpoint. Her creativity in telling a story inspires me.
The Memoir Project was a great quick read, a listen actually, and now I think I need to own this book to return to it. I liked it better than Art of Memoir.
I Miss You When I Blink was another addition to my own memoir project exploration.Both laughed and cried which is my definition of ideal story telling.
When I asked my writing group for recommendations on memoirs about beauty in the midst of grief, many people recommended Between Two Kingdoms. What an incredible story. It became all the more powerful as after 10 years in remission, Suleika Jaouad’s cancer returned in December. Watching her go through the painful process again but in real time, and with a decade of life lessons in her soul, is a beautiful thing. Her newsletter Isolation Journal is a wonderful follow for writers or any soul explorers. It informs and rethinks my writing each week.
Speaking of writing…
Here are a few things of mine you might have missed:
The final word I leave to you in picture. Following Sulieka led me to finding The Tiny Pricks Project. I love seeing how this artist brings word to craft. It reminds me how words how I believe words are formed, stitch by stitch.
