Rod’s insides had begun.
But what do you keep of me? The memory of my bones flying up into your hands. – Anne Sexton, “The Surgeon.
She knew, even at that young age, that you cannot separate good and evil cleanly, that they are conjoined twins sharing a single heart.
You begin to wonder if you still love him. You wonder if you ever did. The opposite.
Do we grieve because the person we lost was such a light in the world? Or do we grieve because of who he was to us?
I remember how once, she put out a place setting at the dinner table for my attitude, and she told me, Girl, when you leave the table, that can stay behind.
It’s so easy to forget,’ she murmured, ’how underneath, we’re all exactly the same.
Then, suddenly, she launches forward and hugs me. Adolescence is like summer weather in Boston – storms chased by sunshine, in the span of a minute. Occasional hail. And every now and then, a cloudless sky.
It’s not babysitting when it’s your kid,” he replies.
Oh daughter of ashes and mother of blood.
Nevvie’s been with me from the start, ” he said, by way of explanation. As if it did not matter that I was supposed to be with him till the end.
One woman had married a dog and given birth to puppies, only to peel back the fur to see they were actually babies underneath. Animals were simply nonhuman people, with the same ability to make conscious decisions, and humanity simmered under their skins. You could see it in the way they sat together for meals, or fell in love, or grieved. And this went both ways: Sometimes, in a human, there would turn out to be a hidden bit of a beast.
Did you know that the Ancient Egyptians gave dogs the names of people, but all cats were just called ‘cat’?
If you want to feel sorry for yourself,” Mary continues, “then do it in a way that isn’t going to destroy other people’s lives.
You say I love you, but it’s no longer like throwing open the windows of your heart. You say it the way you’d say It’s Tuesday or I’m a brunette: matter-of-fact, a truth, a statement. Not an exaltation. Not a miracle. You wonder when the core of love changed from passion to compassion.
There’s something to be said for being someone’s safety zone. Even if, sometimes, it means a kick or a punch or a rush of angry words.
Anna is thirteen. Anna lives with her mother. Anna’s mother is opposing counsel. How can Anna possibly live in the same home and not be swayed by Sara Fitzgerald?
To show compassion would elevate me from the monster he was. To show revenge would prove I’m no better. In the end, by using both, I can only hope they will cancel each other out.
The echo of you is still here – in your children or grandchildren; in the art you made while living; in the memories other people have of you.
Busy is just a euphemism for being so focused on what you don’t have that you never notice what you do. It’s a defense mechanism. Because if you stop hustling – if you pause – you start wondering why you ever thought you wanted all those things.