Rabbit Hole and Grief; Palming the Rounded Stone

I just finished watching the film Rabbit Hole, a film about the relationship of a husband and wife as they cope with the death of their only child eight months earlier. It is a film that examines grief with a clarity tinged with pain, akin to the feeling of looking into clear water at the same moment a glint of sunshine blinds your eyes. Actors Nicole Kidman and Aaron Eckhart don't shy away from the overwhelming emotion of grief that accompanies the loss of a child, and, coupled with the simple, elegant vision of the film, create a very true portrait of the weight of grief on human life. (Director John Cameron Mitchell has long been a favorite of mine, and his talent is clear in this film, a departure from his earlier, zanier works.)


Towards the end of the film, Kidman's character Becca and her mother, Nat (played excellently by Dianne Wiest), are putting away boxes in the basement. Nat reflects on her own experience of losing a child (Becca's adult brother, Arthur, to a drug overdose) and the grieving process:
At some point, it becomes bearable. It turns into something that you can crawl out from under and... carry around like a brick in your pocket. And you... you even forget it, for a while. But then you reach in for whatever reason and - there it is. Oh right, that. Which could be awful - not all the time. It's kinda...not that you'd like it exactly, but it's what you've got instead of your son. So, you carry it around. And uh... it doesn't go away. Which is...
[Becca:] Which is what?
[Nat:] Fine, actually.


Now, I know my experience with death isn't as dramatic as what's portrayed in this film. The person closest to me who has died was my grandfather, and this was nearly five years ago. He died after being being unwell for a while. I miss him a lot; there is a clear hole in our family celebrations where his booming voice and crazy stories would fit. But there is an understanding when someone dies who has lived a long and fulfilling life; there is a feeling of peace at the end and the promise of a legacy. As a Christian, I believe in life after death, and I believe there's a place beyond mortal life where my grandfather will welcome us with a big hug when we arrive someday.


But I think there is grief we don't talk about either. The end of relationships, the loss of livelihood, grief over abuse and violence that we don't discuss. We grieve for our pain, and for the persons we were "before". When my marriage ended in 2007, my pastor said to me, "No one acknowledges the grief of the end of a marriage. But there is a loss there; something has ended that you thought would be in your life forever." This grief is more difficult for others to share with you--they want to know salacious details, who's to blame, or they want to tell you that you're free to move on now. For me, this grief dwelt as guilt for a long time in my head.


The brick analogy in Rabbit Hole is a fitting one; for me, grief feels like a rounded stone that you can turn over and over in your hand. Its edges might be smoothed down, but it is still made of something that has weight and can hurt. Hurl that rock through a window and you can shatter glass. Or just hold it in your hand and it might ground you. Either way, it's still there. You can stop thinking about it for a day, a week, a month, but it will not change shape. It becomes a part of you for as long as you carry it.

New blog, take two.

So, I had to get a new gmail address. One that was more professional and less "whimsical". (Although whimsy will always be the driving force behind everything I love and everything that makes me create.) And along with that, I had to create a new blog. 


So this is it: Beauty and Terror, two battlefields between which we balance on a very precise edge. The quote is from an untitled poem by Rilke:

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.

Embody me.

Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.