Tag Archives: death

Grief at Thirty Thousand Feet

Sadness leaks in like the cold. You bundle up, prepared for it. Ready for the onslaught. But it comes in wisps – icy fingers that make you shiver at first. Then you choke as they tighten around your throat.

I stare at the text message, the orange glow of my phone in the dark of a strange hotel room in the middle of the country. I can’t read the letters on the screen, but the message has pierced the sleepy shrouds, the covers over me on the bed, the t-shirt I’m wearing, the skin of my chest and my heart. Continue reading Grief at Thirty Thousand Feet

Seven Billion Lonely People

Top of the Rock – New York City

I got up and read the news like everyone else did. I stumbled towards the toilet realizing in a wash of feelings, that another bright light had gone out of the world while I slept.

I felt a little lonelier than I had when I had gone to sleep the night before.

Anthony, Kate, Robin, my uncle Peter, so many other bright lights gone away leaving the night sky a little colder for the lack of their bright lights in it.

We are so damn lonely, we make it thirty two years, fifty five years, sixty one years, and we can’t make it another day. It compiles in remarkable abundance in some pit within us until it consumes us.  Continue reading Seven Billion Lonely People

The Last of the Guardian Angels

Goodbye grandma Shook. The last time I saw her just a little over a year ago.

I have been so proud these forty four years to say that I still have a grandma.

My first set of grandparents passed away when I was in my early twenties. My last grandfather passed away about ten years ago.

And tonight, around 6:45 p.m., my last grandma breathed her last.  Continue reading The Last of the Guardian Angels

Papa

I’m not sure when I switched over to calling him Papa.

It was always Ken, my wife’s father. Before that, he was Ken, my girlfriend’s father.

When we got married, he had tears streaming down his heavily lined face. He was signing our marriage certificate, and he stopped, looked up and said, “I’m not losing a daughter, I’m gaining a son.”

And to this day, I have never felt anything less than a solid member of the Carpenter clan.

Continue reading Papa

Trump is president and Leonard Cohen is Dead

I was killing time at my best friend’s condo in PDX tonight, waiting for the protests to die down when the news of Leonard Cohen’s death broke.

My friend didn’t know who he was, so I played “Hallelujah” on Spotify for him and his kids.

Of course they only know the Jeff Buckley version, or, more realistically, the John Cale version from “Shreck,” but my point was made.

The man whose lyrics I read more than I ever listened to is dead at 82.

And Trump was in the White House today.

Continue reading Trump is president and Leonard Cohen is Dead

Death of a small woodland animal

http://www.mcglinch.com/blog/2007/06/request-doodle-dead-squirrel-ascending.html

The screams started as I sat down to write in the three-season room off the back of our new rental house.

It was lower in tone than a cicada, but it had that constant humming quality to it that made it unbearable, like a low-grade headache.

I scanned the yard to see if I could spot where the sound was coming from, but I didn’t notice anything.

It continued for several minutes and then fell silent.

There was noticeable relief when it ended. I felt physically better somehow.

I cracked my knuckles and went to work on a short story that I was struggling to end shortly.

Continue reading Death of a small woodland animal