I usually talk about perky, fun things on this blog, but I get so many heartfelt emails from you, my readers, that I feel like I can talk about non-perky unfun things here too.
A lot of you have responded to the topic of loss and grief that Kate has to face with her parents’ death in Book 1. And then at the very end of Book 2, she is once again faced with another loss. I’ve gotten at least 500 tweets, FB messages and emails from you saying that you cried at the end of UNTIL I DIE. (And I have been dispensing virtual Kleenexes non-stop since release date, it seems.)
So I know you know that feeling.
Lately I have had a lot of loss in my life, through both death and loss of love. And in many ways, the feelings both situations bring are very similar. Both involve grief. And although I lost my mom over 12 years ago, I forgot how physical the pain of grief can be.
I try to remember that pain when I write about grief, but it never really measures up to the true experience: the tightening you feel in your throat; that ice-pick stabbing your chest; the iron clamp around your lungs, the loss of appetite and sleep. When I write things like that, I get back editorial notes that say “flat” or “too cliché?” And that is because it is so hard to describe in a realistic manner. The pain is too intense to put into a handful of words.
But for me, the physical pain walks hand in hand with the psychological pain of loss. And the hardest part for me is dealing with what the loss means for the future. What will never be. Thoughts, like those I expressed of Kate’s, that you will never touch that person again. I am a very tactile person. That thought alone for me is devastating. That you will never brush your fingers across that person’s skin: whether it be the powder-soft wrinkled face of your grandmother or the warm firm skin of your true love’s hand as you grasp it, walking into one or another adventure.
The concept of “never again” is the hardest for me.
With my mother, my grandmother, knowing that I can’t pick up the phone and hear their voice. I won’t ever hear my mother say, “Oh, Amy!” when I tell her some crazy thing I’ve done. (Everything I did for her was crazy.) And my grandmother talking about my daughter, who she doted on, saying, “Oh, I just want to squeeze that sweet little girl!” “Never again” breaks my heart.
There are loves of my life that I was ready to leave. It was time. It was clear. Others that have been hard. And some that have been excruciating. And in this situation for me, it is the “what could have been that will never be” that is the hardest to bear. The plans that I made, that I might not have ever spoken. Trips that could have been taken, meals that could have been shared, conversations that will never be enjoyed, books that will never be read together, time spent in the other’s company. All of that dissipates into the ‘this will never happen’ ether of lost experiences.
And then touch. There’s always the touch that will never happen again. The finality of goodbye.
How do you deal with heartache? Kate hid herself away from the world. I did the opposite with my mom, and had to be with people non-stop. There are bad ways of dealing – of escaping the pain. And dealing with it head-on means crying so much that you look in the mirror at the end of the day and wonder why you don’t look like a shriveled-up raisin. Where did all of that water come from?
Some turn to whichever God or religion they practice. I have, over the years, developed a habit that I go to when I am in desperate need of help. I should do it more often really, but only think of it when I am at the very end of my own strength. Here it is:
I’m not into ancestor worship. But I happen to have an ancestry of very strong women who preceded me, whose blood flows through my veins and whose genes I share. When I am truly desperate—I have done this both when I had an excruciating choice to make or when I am being ravaged by grief—I go to my little altar of women and remember them all.
Words and sounds are important to me. I say their names. I look into their faces and touch the objects that I have that were theirs—that they too touched at one point back in the distant past. And I ask them to pass me their strength. It’s already there in my genes, flowing through my veins. I ask them to help me tap into it and to help me make my decision, be strong, and have peace.
Loss. Grief. The disappearance of someone you love. It is a necessary part of life, but curse those Fates who allow it to happen.
16 Comments to Loss and Writing and Kate
by Alea - On June 16, 2012
Amy, this is the most beautiful and inspirating anything I’ve read in awhile. I think its odd how ive come across this tonight(my guinea pig just passed). I think that the words that you have wrote are so true. When I lost my dad and my stepdad. You tell people all the time that your okay, you might even try to explain to one and help them get over their own griefs when the time of their loved one has come to an end. But really what is there to say or to do? I am a firm believer in the saying “time heals all wounds but the scars remain”. Everyday it gets a little bit easier but really when do you ever forget about someone you truely loved. I also am on the same page with you the what ifs and the never agains are the very hardest for me as well. When my goddaughter passed at 7 months. It was the questions that hurt the most I wonder what she would have been or what her favorite color would be. I wish everyday that I knew. But I have learned to deal with her being gone. Its something I doubt I will truely ever accept. I just wanna say though that you are 100x more an amazing writer in my eyes after seeing this. For the people who say what you write is cliche then its only because they have never experienced true loss. Amy i wish you nothing but happiness, courage and strength.
by Olivia Snowdon - On June 16, 2012
Amy i dont have a dad i dont know if he’s dead or not as he left me and my mum when before i was born, so in a way i think i lost my dad but lately i have people asking me out! 🙂 of course i said no but me and one guy is taking it slow… so i havent lost everything, i love your writing your amazing Amy!
by Alison - On June 16, 2012
Last night a friend sent me a message, and I replied that her words were the perfect thing at the time. This morning, your words are perfect. Thank you for sharing something so personal, yet so universal.
by Evelyn - On June 16, 2012
This post is a beautiful tribute to your mom and grandmother. It is also universal for all women. I’m old enough to be your mom yet I still miss my own mother in ways you describe. She died 15 years ago and when I come across a slip of paper with her handwriting on it, I start to feel sad and long for her presence. We didn’t get along well actually, but she was on my side and always loved me
I wish I knew my grandmothers who were kind and strong women. We are lucky to come from people like these. Thanks for your words and photos which show how your cope with loss. It’s a blessing to be a person who grieves, a fully human being. Carry on!
by AE Rought - On June 16, 2012
Such a beautiful post, Amy. I lost my brother when I was fourteen and I still carry the hurt–I listen to his favorite song to sharpen the pain and to remember more vividly everything he was. My father passed away a couple summers ago. I wear his wedding band on my index finger, to keep his energy with me always. Loss etches the beauty of what was, and all of what could have been on our souls. The pain is very real, but the picture remains. <3
by shelby von wahl - On June 16, 2012
wow, reading this made me tear up…
by Natalie Parker - On June 16, 2012
Amy your message is very true and very beautiful! I have tears in my eyes just reading this. I have just finished reading “Until i die” for the umpteen time (with more tears)and Kate’s pain is so so real in me when i read it, as i’m sure we can all relate to that pain at some point in our lifes!
You do try and grasp to “hope and faith” and we all question the “why and what if” and wonder if it’s a punishment for feeling this pain that won’t heal or go away! I read in a book that Angels cry when they see us in pain and that it’s not a punishment but a learning; to help others when we are stong enough to help them!
Your books and you messages have stirred up emotion’s in me, i have cried, laughed and felt butterflies and happiness! And this helps in my reality to cope, even the pain!
Happiness and love, especially at the end of book 1, though it’s the feeling of loss at the end of book 2 that haunt’s me and bring me into reality, knowing that i do feel, even if it’s pain!
I admit that i am desperate to know that in the world of Kate and Vincent, whom have experienced heart aches and pain in their world, that there is HOPE, that love, light and good will rise above the evil and pain – and hope that book 3 will be “a happy ever after”! So when i am feeling i need to escape this world to the Fantasy land of the story of K & V (esp book 1), it will heal some part of me, giving me strengh to carry on, when i return to my world of reality!
Thank you for the beautiful message and books and i am ever eager to read more from your touching words of comfort and of course, book 3.
Wishing that all who reads this, and have felt the emotions of Amy’s book – that they will find happiness and comfort and of course Love! As love has the power to heal us and make us happy x
by Kathrin - On June 16, 2012
Amy, you have the gift of expressing feelings in words. I wish you peace in your heart, strengths and never to loose your smile. The happiness you so deserve will come. Hugs to you.
by Kasey - On June 17, 2012
I am a person who has been through a lot of loss and grew up around death. I also have the fear of losing someone close, whether it be to death or they just walk out of my life. When I read this I felt a little sigh of relief because you explained perfectly what I have been trying to express for years. Thank you Amy Plum! You are amazing! <3
by Judith Chabot - On June 17, 2012
Amy, it’s uncanny that you would write this today, as I was just thinking some of these things about my dad, whom I lost a few years ago. I was in Kansas City, at the art museum, and looking at an exhibit of artful artifacts from many Worlds Fairs over the years. My dad was able to go to the Worlds Fair in NYC in 1939, and at one point, as I stood in front of an object that had been on display during that fair, I thought, “Wow, I wonder if Dad just happened to have looked at this very thing in 1939. Imagine! I might be looking at something that my dad looked at in 1939, and that I didn’t even know existed until today.” I was really touched, and felt closer to him. It’s nice to see that you do that, too, with these special objects that help you feel close to your mom and grandmother. I hope you’re not experiencing other loss that we don’t know about, but thanks for sharing this lovely post.
by Melania - On June 18, 2012
Whoa, so beautiful, so evocative. Thank you for sharing something so personal to you. I love the idea of an ancestry altar. What a lovely way to remember loved ones gone. I am deeply moved by this blog post. Thank you again for sharing.
by Geraldine Frost - On June 19, 2012
Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts about love and loss. That is so brave and kind. And timely.
One of the reasons Die 4 Me touched me was how Kate dealt with loss, grief and love in an honesty and human way. I lost my mum 8 years ago and still find it hard. I don’t think you ever quite get over it. I still wish I could ask her to cook that sponge cake she cooked and to laugh and share silly stuff together. I take heart that I remember the good times we had but it is not always easy. Like you I have wonderfully strong women in my family (I hope some of that has rubbed off on me). Many thanks Amy, it’s wonderful to know that others understand. oxox
by Geraldine Frost - On June 19, 2012
PS:
I had tears in my eyes reading everyones lovely comments. Thank you all for sharing.
by amy - On June 22, 2012
Thank you all for your comments, encouragement, and touching stories. Life is a bit difficult right now.
We all have our rough times (okay…our super-rough times), but I am encouraged that we all find our ways to cope, to connect with those we have lost, to being strong and healing.
Thank you for the community of love!
by http://www.zcpgsksg.com - On June 28, 2013
I love reading a post that can make men and women think.
Also, thanks for permitting me to comment!
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