It seems so strange to feel such love and support from people I've never met. Thanks to each of you for all of your very kind and encouraging words. I don't feel strong, or brave, mostly what I feel is that I just want my sister back. I know that will never happen, so the next best thing I can do is hopefully prevent someone from ever having to go through such a horrific loss.
Thank you again for your constant support and feedback. It really does help.
Thank you again for your constant support and feedback. It really does help.
A Blog Link:
I am attaching a link to my daughter's blog. When Keicha was a child, whenever she would misbehave, which was quite rare, her punishment was that she had to put down her book and go outside and play. Books have always been her passion.
Having read prolifically since her earliest days, it is no wonder that she is such a wonderful writer. I am quite proud of her ability to express herself so well with her writing. I am sorry that she must write about the hard topics of grief and loss, but I am grateful she can use her gift of writing to examine these topics. I know that her heart hopes that her writing helps others just as she has benefited from the writings of others.
The link to her blog is below:
A Review:
I hope to create a new topic for my blog which features books I have read about loss, grief, and the difficult subject of suicide. Reading and writing have been an important part of my journey through grief. Perhaps, the books I have read will also benefit others.
Blue Nights by Joan DidionMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
It is difficult to write a review about this book because I can't be objective. I can't be objective because as I read this book, I felt as if I were reading my own thoughts, questions, sorrows, regret, memories, and psychological battles. I lost my daughter a year and a half ago. That is why I felt as if I were reading my own story.
I wanted Joan Didion to tie up the loose ends of grief for me. I wanted her to give my some answers on how she coped with her loss. I wanted to know that she was doing just fine. I knew I wouldn't find these answers, but in my own denial about my own daughter's death, I hoped that just possibly she had been able to accomplish something I could not.
Joan forced me to confront some memories of Julie that I had buried in a place in my mind I could not visit. While I did not want to lose what little I had left of my daughter, the memories of her alive and well, I wished not to really see her either. Seeing her made her loss more unbearable.
I wept so many times in this book. I wept for Joan, for Quintana, for Julie, for me. I wept because so many memories were very much alive. I saw them as if I were first seeing the smile that swept across my daughter's face the first time I held her after her birth. I vividly remembered how her eyes locked in on mine and she held my gaze when she was just hours old. I visited those memories, and my heart broke all over again. I went over the details of the memory in my mind. I saw her hair, smelled it, held it in my hands, but only in my memory. I allowed myself to do this as I read this book.
I read some of this book while sitting in a cold doctor's office, just as Joan Didion described. I had to close the book and put it away because I started weeping nearly uncontrollably. I have been in that same place as she was in. In fact, I was in that place. I have experienced the psychological and physical toll that such a death takes on the mother who survives.
Joan Didion does not resolve anything in this book. There is no resolution. How can there be when a mother loses a child?
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