THE GRIEFGLOW MANIFESTO: WHY THIS BLOG?

This blog finds its roots in the losses of my life and my slow, stumbling, but steady path towards healing. Of all the resources I explored when I was newly bereaved and deep in grief, the most powerful ones were those that simply shared someone else's story. The least helpful were those that either tried to fix or change me, or communicated with such mutedness and sadness they seemed to make my own sadness worse. In reacting to such times, I came up with something I called the GriefGlow manifesto, which goes as follows. I am pleased to share it and some glimpses of my journey with you. So, the GriefGlow Manifesto: Because grief is never black and white. Because healing is hard enough without coloring everything around us gray. Because we're just sad, not broken. Because we are a community, even when we feel the most alone. Because a picture is worth a thousand words when we have no words to say. Because we don't need to be changed, fixed, taught, or hurried. Because being vulnerable isn't the same as being powerless. Because our story isn't over. Because the world is as beautiful as it is painful. And because though a little bit of beauty can't change the pain today, it may help us toward healing tomorrow.



Tuesday, June 22, 2010

BIG PICTURE, SMALL LENS

Photographer Jeannette Montgomery Barron's little book My Mother's Clothes: An Album of Memories recently reminded me that we sometimes create the most vivid memorials to those we've loved and lost when we give ourselves permission to to notice small things rather than stretch for big meaning.

(If you follow my Working Writer Wonders blog, you will remember a recent post about the same book, in a different context.)

In her prime, Barron's mother Ellie was what we once called a clothes horse, a woman who loved exquisite garments and owned a lot of them. Later in life, as her memory began to fail, her daughter began to photograph her clothes to help spark recollections. The images in the book--of dresses and stockings, purses and bathing caps, hangers and size labels--thus have a double resonance. The project may have begun as an aid to the mother's memory, but in the end it also became a way to sustain the daughter's.

There are only a very few pages of photographs of Eleanor herself, and they come right at the very end of the book. But the simplicity of the still life photos and the very brief text Barron wrote to accompany each such a rich, specific picture that I barely noticed their absence. I felt Ellie's presence. I felt the pain of the absences her Alzheimer's and then her death created. I felt that in some way I knew Barron herself as well, knew some of the ways her personality was shaped in response to her mother's.

Barron makes no grand claims for her mother or her book, describes few of the details in a traditional biography, and offers few if any grand words about "big" concepts like values, legacy, or the meaning of life and death. Maybe that exactly why her lovely little work speaks so clearly...because it pays such quiet and devoted attention to the small choices that, in the end, comprise a life.

My own mom's personal style was completely different from that of Barron's mom, yet the book sparked so many of my own memories. If you're a daughter like me, I bet it will do the same for you whether your mother is living or not. Her web site is worth a visit, too; click here to visit the page where she talks about the book and its inspiration.

1 comment:

  1. Suzanne, I got two referrals from this blog to mine today, so I had to come check out what you are doing. I'm impressed! Four blogs, a business of working with other writers, and continuous output of your own creative writing. Wow. Let's stay in touch. All the best in your memoir writing, among all those other activities.

    ReplyDelete