Category Archives: Grief

Beginnings and Endings

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Today, January 27th, marks 17 years since I started this blog. In the last 16 months, since the death of my beloved husband, my life has changed, my reading has changed, and my commitment to my blog has changed.

Early in my grief journey, I couldn’t focus enough to read. Now my reading has become solace on a lonely afternoon, or a search for new understandings of the changes happening to me, or simply an activity that I now set aside for long periods of time while I garden, go for walks, or visit with friends. I have started many books that I simply cannot finish for a variety of reasons, and so I stick with gentle reads. My reading seems to mirror the ups and downs I face each day, and as you can see from my blog silence, it is difficult for me to write posts, or review books.

I am finding new interests and projects that require the time I used to devote solely to reading and blogging. I’ve been organizing old photos, writing stories and creating slideshows and videos for my family from those old and some new memories. I am honoring these new pursuits and new parts of myself with focus and attention, and wonder where they will lead me.

I have been struggling for months to decide what to do with my blog during this time. I take beginnings very seriously, and I have a really hard time with endings. There is so much I enjoy about blogging, but I’m uncomfortable with these long silences.

So for now, I think it is best to simply announce that I will not be actively blogging for the time being. I’ll give myself some time to decide whether this will be an extended break, or whether I will retire my blog.

I love the book blogging community and hold precious the friendships made through this sharing of our love of books and reading!  So I will say a gentle goodbye for now. I will still be visiting your blogs and will still be present on social media, so I don’t plan to disappear. Please know that your support for me and this blog over the years, has meant the world to me. For your friendship, love, and support, I thank you, dear readers, from the bottom of my heart.

With deep gratitude,
Robin

June Reflections, 2023

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July is here, and for me, summer officially starts with the 4th of July celebrations. That’s tomorrow already! So before I move on into more of my summer busy-ness, I want to take a moment and share my June with you.

I’m delighted to report that I read a number of books in June! Surprised myself, actually. “Grief brain” for me is a very real thing, and for months now my focus (especially on reading) has been scattered and my attention span minimal. So that’s why I was happily surprised when I looked at my Goodreads list of books read in June and realized I actually finished 5 books! Those quiet afternoons, after mornings filled with yard work, have been a productive and therapeutic reading time.

The five books I read in June were enjoyable and varied. Early in the month, I completed a book I’d been “reading slowly over time” (my new category for my Goodreads lists). It was a book about grief, a collection of poems and short essays written by a variety of people. The Language of Loss: Poetry and Prose for Grieving and Celebrating the Love of Your Life, edited by Barbara Abercrombie, was a lovely collection that I found very healing. It took a long time to read because I would only read one or two selections at a time, and that gave me time to really think about what was shared by other grievers.

from the publisher:

When Barbara Abercrombie’s husband died, she found the language of condolence, no matter how well intended, irritating. “My husband had not gone to a better place, as if he were on a holiday. He had not passed, like clouds overhead. He wasn’t my late husband, as if he’d missed a train. And I had not lost him, as if I’d been careless.” She yearned instead for words that acknowledged the reality of death, that spoke about the unfathomable sorrow and loneliness (and perhaps even guilt and anger), and that might even point the way toward hope and healing. She found those words in the writings gathered here. The prose and poetry in The Language of Loss follows an arc that mirrors the path of many mourners — from abject loss and feeling unmoored, to glimmers of promise and possibility, through to gratitude for the love they knew. C.S. Lewis wrote, “We read to know that we’re not alone.” These writings, which express what often feels ineffable, will accompany those who grieve, offering understanding and solace.

The other four books I read were so interesting and each deserves its own separate review. But for now, I will just say that each transported me to someplace else while giving me new insights into my own world right now here at home. That’s why I read …  and I’m so grateful to be able to spend my afternoons with good stories and wonderful talented storytellers.

My June reading:

I hope that you are all enjoying your summer reading!

What I’ve Been Up To…

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Hello, my friends. I have been missing my blog, my blogging friends, and the act of telling stories and sharing my reading! So I thought I’d stop in on this lovely Sunday afternoon and say Hi, and let you know that I’m (mostly) okay and what I’ve been up to recently.

I’m still here, and reading a little more than I was in March, but I’m actually spending more of my time outdoors with the return of sunshine to the Pacific Northwest. The yard and garden were in a terrible state of neglect from the Covid/Cancer years, so trying to “tame” it all again is a daunting job. One step at a time is my mantra. When I had the tall dangerous oak tree removed from the back corner of the yard last November, it opened up sunshine to that previously shady corner.  This spring I’ve created what I call my new “Sunshine Garden,” in that corner, and it has been a joyful project!  I planted some tomatoes, peas, beans, carrots and beets which are all happy with that sunny spot.

I’ve also been going through our many (thousands!) of old photos, scanning old slides, organizing photo files on my computer. It’s a massive project that I am enjoying very much. Sometimes, the tears flow freely while working on that project, and sometimes  laughter and joy arrive, as well. The 54 years Byron and I spent together are well-documented with priceless photos. I just completed an eight-week bereavement class, called “Living After Loss,” run by our incredible hospice group that helped ease Byron’s end of life. We were all invited to participate in the class at about 6 months since our special person died. It was an amazing learning experience about grief, very emotional and very helpful in so many ways. The culminating project was to create a Memory Project for the final day of class. For my “Memory Project,” I created a slideshow of photos of Byron and me over those 54 years, all put together with the song, “Through the Eyes of Love.” That project, too, is a treasure now.

And as for my reading… Yes, I am able to finish some books now after a period of time when I couldn’t focus enough to read much. In April, I read What Happened to the Corbetts, by Nevil Shute, one of my favorite authors. And in May, I read Victoria Connelly’s new book, The Way to the Sea. I always enjoy her heartwarming books.

 

Once again, I want you to know how much I appreciate all of you and your kind support during this time of bereavement. I hope you are all well and happy and enjoying your summer reading!

Just Not Reading Much

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One Step at a Time…

Hello, my friends. I’m checking in with you this afternoon to let you know that I’m getting along okay. I’ve given myself some time away from both reading and writing about my reading, but I have tried to keep up with many of you on social media, which seems to fit my fractured focus better right now.

After a strong start to my reading year, I just found it too difficult to read in February and March. I’ve been listening to a lot of music (such a pleasure) and watching some new-to-me series on TV (always enjoyable). Just not reading much.

Now that April has arrived, I’m feeling less fractured. Getting outside for walks and to work in the garden a little bit, feels so good! It’s just what is needed despite how very wet it is here in the Pacific Northwest this year!

The cartoon at the top of this post really speaks to who I am and what I am doing these days. “Baby steps” is my motto. I’m slowly getting back to some things, and slowly climbing into new territory. I am also finding myself thinking about some of the stories I have been able to read or listen to recently, so perhaps there’s a blog post brewing.

My gratitude is huge for all the love and kindness that surrounds me during this time of bereavement, and I have realized how many people are suffering their own losses, and my heart goes out to each of them.

I hope that your Spring is full of really good books and stories, and that you all stay healthy and happy.

 

 

 

Byron’s Books

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Byron at the bookstore…

My husband, Byron, was a constant reader, and for almost 54 years we shared and talked about books. Although we often read very different things, we always enjoyed talking about what we were reading and the ideas, or the beautiful writing, that impressed us. For those of you who are new to my blog, I lost Byron to cancer in September. It’s a difficult loss in so many ways, but to lose a precious reading partner is really hard. However, when I look at his shelves, at his collection of books, at his favorite book, at the last book he gave me, or at the last book he was reading…I find so many wonderful things to read now in his honor. I continue to be inspired by him and by his reading choices. My beloved reading partner lives on in my heart, and he continues to expand and enrich my reading world.

I’ve created a new category on my blog called “Byron’s Books” so that those posts are easier for me to find. To honor his memory and his love of reading, those posts will include reviews of his books as I read them, quotes he kept in his notebooks, lists he made, and other memories of his reading life over the years. 

Byron’s corner … one of his bookshelves.

Early December

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Interior with the Artist’s Daughter, by Vanessa Bell, 1935-36

Hello, dear friends,

We are well into the holiday season now. and I wanted to check in and wish you all a very happy season.  I hope you are well and enjoying life and family and good books. And as for the stresses and strains that also seem to be part of the holidays, I wish for you some quiet and some time to just enjoy the present moment.

I feel like I’ve been away forever, and I am hoping to get back to some consistent blogging again. I am getting back to my reading, choosing kind and gentle reads for now. Poetry is a balm for me. Books about grief (some of them), are helpful and appreciated. And when I found a book of poetry about grief that really spoke to my own experience, I was thrilled. Living Without the One You Cannot Live Without, by Natasha Josefowitz, sits beside me right now as my solace and one of my guides through this journey.

Recent fiction reads, such as Farewell to Fairacre, by Miss Read, and The Bookstore Sisters, a short story by Alice Hoffman, have been my bedtime reads. My non-fiction afternoon reading included Michelle Obama’s new book, The Light We Carry: Overcoming in Uncertain Times, which I felt was an enriching audiobook to listen to. She is, as always, full of wisdom and compassion, and hope. I really enjoyed it. I also read a library find: A Glorious Freedom: Older Women Leading Extraordinary Lives, by Lisa Congdon. It was inspiring and I enjoyed each short biography of many different women who found their passions and careers later in life.

After two-and-a-half years of pandemic lockdown and the extra precautions we had to take due to my husband’s cancer, I am beginning to get back to some of my used-to-be normal activities. I have started going back to my exercise class at the gym, although I know that Covid is still here. But I need my exercise friends, the three-day-a-week routine, and the exercise! It’s so nice to be back. I’m also getting back to my morning walks, although the weather always seems to play havoc with that routine at this time of year. And I’m also getting back to my reading. It all feels so good!

 

After the Diagnosis Reading

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A few weeks ago, I published a post about the books I have been reading since my husband’s diagnosis of cancer. I called it “My Other Reading” because I felt at the time that it was a separate reading journey for me. It was also a little easier than coming right out and saying that I am reading about disease, death, dying, end-of-life, and grief. But I have come to understand that it is not a separate reading journey for me. It is a very important pursuit of knowledge, and is taking central stage for much of my reading time these days. So I’m going to keep an ongoing list of this new journey, (like I do with my other reading journeys) and the books I am reading that help me understand and process what Byron and I are going through. I hope you will check back here occasionally to see where this search for knowledge and understanding is taking me.

I recognize that “end-of-life” is a topic that is uncomfortable for many. It is a very private journey, and our culture deems it to be something we just don’t talk about very much. But I make sense out what is happening in my life by reading, learning as much as I can, and then writing and talking over those ideas/learnings with my friends and loved ones. The conversations that have already been sparked, the book recommendations from friends and family, the kindnesses being shown to us by so many around us and in so many ways, are all deeply appreciated and help us with our processing. I also hope that in talking openly about our experience, it may help someone else process their own experiences with loss and grief.

And I am finding such interest, understanding, and solace in my reading about what we are going through right now. My reading is empowering me to do the best I can to be supportive, helpful, and understanding of Byron’s daily struggles with this disease. It is Byron’s illness, but our journey, together. And I want to do it well.

Red = click to read my review
Blue = Read but not reviewed yet

NON-FICTION:

FICTION:

 

 

 

My Other Reading

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Painting by Anna Forlati

My reading has always been all over the place. There are genres I love, like mysteries and gardening books, and I love children’s literature. But reading is how I process most things in life. Books and authors are my guides. I am curious and a learner and have gotten my best education from my books. So simply put, I read all kinds of things, and when I need to learn about a new topic, I dive in head first.

Byron and I are now facing changes and challenges that require a whole new education. Thus, I am reading about all kinds of topics that I haven’t read about before so I’ve started calling this “my other reading.” Many of these books, articles, even research papers are recommended by our current support team which is made up of family and friends, doctors and our grief counselor, and new acquaintances who are going through similar things to what we are facing.

Some of this reading I am doing slowly, over time, because the topic is so intense emotionally. Others I am reading quickly needing the information right now already. And some are fiction that give me a completely different view and understanding of our situation.

This “other” reading is helping me understand, cope, prepare, and live with the certainty and uncertainties of life since Byron’s diagnosis.

My current “other” reading:

Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End, by Atul Gwandi, after having loaned it to our daughter to read. This is a reread for me. It’s such an important topic, rarely discussed in public, but a book that I think everyone should read. We are all mortal.

The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer, by Siddhartha Mukherjee, is beautifully written, but difficult (emotionally) to read. I’m reading it a little bit at a time, learning sooo much about cancer, and finding passages that perfectly describe our life right now.

During one session recently, my grief counselor read to me an excerpt from the book, The Wild Edge of Sorrow: Rituals of Renewal and the Sacred Work of Grief, by Francis Weller. The passage she read to me was called “An Accumulation of Losses,” and it really hit home with me. So I ordered that book and am slowly reading it, savoring the wisdom it imparts.

She also recommended that I read the book Cured: Strengthen Your Immune System and Heal Your Life, by Jeffrey Rediger, MD. I was hesitant at first to read this one because “being cured” seemed like such a long shot when we are coming to terms with the finality of Byron’s diagnosis. But as the author says, “We have a lot of work to do, in both medicine and as a larger culture, when it comes to talking about death and understanding what it can tell us about life,” and this book is full of ideas to ponder about life when faced with a terminal diagnosis.

Last year, I read a fiction book that touched my heart. The Springtime of the Year, by Susan Hill, was a story of loss and grief. A young, newly married woman loses her husband in a sudden accident. Her journey through grief and how she found her way back into Life, was beautifully told.

I also recently read a non-fiction book by Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche. Notes on Grief, was about the sudden loss of her father during the Covid 19 quarantine (he did not have Covid), and her own journey through the grief and difficulties of losing him during a pandemic. I wrote a mini-review of it here.

One of the most poignant stories I’ve read about loss and grief is Hamnet, by Maggie O’Farrell. My review of it is here.

And finally, I am reading a lot of Mary Oliver‘s poetry…because she puts it into words…beautifully deep-felt words.

 

Joseph Conrad Nailed It

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My husband has long admired Joseph Conrad’s writing. Conrad’s stories are both powerful and profound, and his writing is impressively beautiful, especially considering that English was not his first language. Byron’s old, yellowed copy of Heart of Darkness sits on our coffee table these days rather than on the bookshelf.

So I wasn’t surprised the other day when Byron asked me to read a quote from Conrad’s, Lord Jim. He had just run across the quote in his handwritten reading notebook, copied down from his reading of the book in 2018, and told me that the quote described what having terminal cancer is like for him. He said that Conrad nailed it. It is heart-wrenching to read, but I’m glad that he shared these really deep emotions with me, through the words of one of his favorite authors.

I decided to share this quote with you, because I think it perfectly demonstrates a big part of why we read — to find those nuggets of truth that explain, give an understanding of, or put into words what we are going through in life at the moment.

Joseph Conrad, Lord Jim, Chapter 2

There are many shades in the danger of adventures and gales, and it is only now and then that there appears on the face of facts a sinister violence of intention—that indefinable something which forces it upon the mind and the heart of a man, that this complication of accidents or these elemental furies are coming at him with a purpose of malice, with a strength beyond control, with an unbridled cruelty that means to tear out of him his hope and his fear, the pain of his fatigue and his longing for rest: which means to smash, to destroy, to annihilate all he has seen, known, loved, enjoyed, or hated; all that is priceless and necessary—the sunshine, the memories, the future,—which means to sweep the whole precious world utterly away from his sight by the simple and appalling act of taking his life.

Diagnosis

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Last fall, my husband received a devastating diagnosis. He has Stage IV metastasized prostate cancer. Although this news packs a powerful punch, and there is no soft, kind way to share it, I need to let you know about this major change in my life, dear friends. I am sorry for the pain such news causes.

We have had time now to process the initial shock, to learn much more about what happened and is happening to his body, to begin the process of “getting everything in order,” and to start letting people know about it (although he’s a very private person). And in the middle of all the adjustments and doctor appointments, we are living our new life, which now has a one to four year time limit to it.

We have entered a new world — the world of cancer patients, survivors, caretakers, doctors, nurses, technicians, counselors. Cancer has become the kernel of truth within our daily lives now. Ever-present.

Cancer is a tremendous opportunity to have your face pressed right up against the glass of your mortality.” But what patients see through the glass is not a world outside cancer, but a world taken over by it—cancer reflected endlessly around them like a hall of mirrors.

~ from The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer, by Siddhartha Mukherjee

My husband describes the first months of his disease as “surreal.” Surreal because he felt mostly healthy and normal except for the side effects of his treatment medications, and some pain that came occasionally. His body has been tolerating his treatments well so the cancer has been controlled for the time being. That is slowly changing as this disease finds new ways to get around treatments, but the inevitable decline has not started, yet.

Cancer is an expansionist disease; it invades through tissues, sets up colonies in hostile landscapes, seeking “sanctuary” in one organ and then immigrating to another. It lives desperately, inventively, fiercely, territorially, cannily, and defensively—at times, as if teaching us how to survive. To confront cancer is to encounter a parallel species, one perhaps more adapted to survival than even we are.

~ from The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer, by Siddhartha Mukherjee

He entered this disease in excellent health, with excellent vital signs for his age, and no “co-morbidities,” using the term we’ve heard so often during this Covid-19 pandemic. He was, and still tries to be, active and fit. He feels his best when he is out on his bicycle. Genetic testing showed no genetic mutations that would have caused this to happen, and that, gratefully, are not something our children and my husband’s brothers need to worry about. It just happened. It is real…but it is not yet “real”. Surreal.

Right now, we are deeply grateful and profoundly sad. Grateful that we have time left to be together, to live life together. Grateful that we can face this disease side by side, as we have faced every other challenge in our 52 years together. Grateful for each day that he wakes up in the morning and is “mostly well.” At the same time, we are both profoundly sad, and the sadness comes in waves between otherwise “mostly normal” days.  We are seeing everything in life now through this new lens of impending loss, and are living each moment with crystal clarity. 

And from this vantage point, with deep feeling, I want to ask you to please cherish those you love. Please cherish yourself. Please cherish the daily-ness of your lives. Please cherish all the little things, because, as they say, those are truly the biggest and most important things. Live your life to its fullest, each day, because “today is all of time,” as my grandmother wrote in one of her poems. Today is all of time.

Crying in H Mart

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This week I’ve been listening to the audiobook, Crying in H Mart, by Michelle Zauner, also narrated by the author. It’s been a very moving experience which has touched my heart in many different ways.

It is a memoir of a young woman, a talented musician (her band is called Japanese Breakfast) and the only daughter of a Korean mother and an American father. It is the story of her growing up between two cultures, of her relationship with her mother, and of the loss of her mother to cancer.  It is a very honest and introspective book as she described the struggles between mother and teenage daughter, mother and young adult daughter, and the struggle to establish her own identity. It is a story of growth and grief, and of love and loss.

Her experiences were both unique and universal. I identified with many of the struggles of her teenage years (from my perspective as both a daughter and a mother), and I was fascinated with her cultural and language struggles with extended family. Michelle had just reached young adulthood when her mother was diagnosed with cancer. It was just at the time when her relationship with her mother began to settle into a more adult closeness after the struggles of the teenage years. The descriptions of her mother’s decline and death were heart wrenching, and I found myself in tears numerous times. I couldn’t help but remember and compare my own mother’s death three years ago, and appreciate once again what a kind death my mother had in comparison to the death of Michelle’s mother to the ravages of cancer with it’s prolonged decline. I just wanted to reach out and hug her and tell her how much I admire her honesty and the courage she showed in dealing with that devastating experience.

Michelle’s writing is beautiful. She is not only a talented musician, but is a very talented writer. I am hoping she continues to tell stories because I will look for and read any book she writes. This book is currently on the New York Times best seller list, so there was a long wait for it at the library. But I enjoyed listening to her own voice narrating it, so I highly recommend listening to the audiobook.

A favorite quote from the book:

I’ve just never met someone like you,” as if I were a stranger from another town or an eccentric guest accompanying a mutual friend to a dinner party. It was a strange thought to hear from the mouth of the woman who had birthed and raised me, with whom I shared a home for eighteen years, someone who was half me. My mother had struggled to understand me just as I struggled to understand her. Thrown as we were on opposite sides of a fault line—generational, cultural, linguistic—we wandered lost without a reference point, each of us unintelligible to the other’s expectations, until these past few years when we had just begun to unlock the mystery, carve the psychic space to accommodate each other, appreciate the differences between us, linger in our refracted commonalities. Then, what would have been the most fruitful years of understanding were cut violently short, and I was left alone to decipher the secrets of inheritance without its key.

An after-reading-the-book experience:

Food was a huge part of her relationship with her mother, so H Mart was an important part of this book. I had never heard of H Mart before, but since the author grew up in Eugene, Oregon, and the H Mart there is the one she wrote about, I thought it would be interesting to perhaps visit that particular store. In searching for it on the internet, I discovered that there are numerous stores even closer to home, so my sweet husband and I drove to Tigard yesterday morning for our first-ever shopping trip to H Mart. Yesterday’s pilgrimage won’t be our last, though, because we were thrilled with the produce and enjoyed shopping there. We came home with some wonderful baby bok choy, a fine looking napa cabbage, a variety of wonderful greens, some new instant noodles to try out, and all the regular weekly items on our shopping list.  And since Korean food was such an important part of the book, I picked up the ingredients to try a new recipe I found for Korean Noodles with Black Bean Sauce. Yum!

Wise Words About The People Who Are Gone

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Thinking of my Mom and Dad this week… My Dad passed away 26 years ago today, just two days before his 74th birthday. I lost my Mom almost two years ago. Missing them is timeless and a constant. But they are in my heart and always with me. The memory of them both, and their lives of integrity and kindness, still guide me in my daily life.