Sunday, March 19, 2017
Four years gone today.
We see Noah afresh at 18 in this portrait made by his Aunt Boehr. We'd never seen it till this year. What a magnificent discovery! He was on the cusp--just recently back from his year in France and about to start college.
May we unearth more memories, more insights into who Noah was to hold him living in our hearts.
Saturday, March 11, 2017
1. In yoga class the other day, my teacher had us stretch out our arms and tilt them like wings. “Fly like an eagle,” she said.
I was thrilled when my tall teenage boys stood on either side of me and perched their elbows companionably on my shoulder; I could have stayed that way for hours. Ben (6’10”) still perches like that sometimes but there’s no little brother (6’4”) to balance the other side.
2 2. I choke up reading the suicide note of a kamikaze pilot in Ruth Ozeki’s novel, Tale for the Time Being. “I know you know my heart,” the pilot writes to his mother, “and will not judge me too harshly.”
Did I know my son’s heart? Maybe when he was young; not in his last few years and definitely not in his last moments. Unless his heart hadn’t really changed and I can trust my intuition. This is my task now: to try to plumb Noah’s heart with every memory and dream, every hunch and scrap of information. And in doing so, to let go of judgement.
3. 3. “The purpose of death is the release of love,” wrote Laurie Anderson in a tribute to her partner, Lou Reed, and in the film, Heart of a Dog. Did she mean a mystical emitting of love by the dead in the moment of dying? Her words remind me of the outpouring of love by the living that’s palpable at funerals and memorials, hovering over the crowd.
If those of us left behind are to take any greater purpose from the suicide of our loved ones, let it be to replenish our reservoir of love and release it out into the world, again and again.