KAYAK MORNINGS
I finished KAYAK MORNINGS (Roger Rosenblatt) and I liked it a lot. I know some of you will read it and others are not currently in book groove, so I thought I would share some passages that really rang my bells. I have to admit I found myself cruising hungrily past long passages about kayaking and birds and skies to find his pockets of thought on grief. The way they are woven in, however, is really LIFE. You ARE just paddling along when you suddenly encounter another thought or dimension of grief. *sigh!*
Let me know which ones vibrate with truth for you.
=============================
1. (some of these are conversations with his therapist...)
"It colors everything I do," I said.
"What did you expect?" said my friend.
"I'm in a box."
"Isn't that what grief is?"
"You're the doctor. You tell me."
"What do you want?" she said.
"I want out."
"What do you really want?"
"I want her back."
"Well, she said, "you'll have to find a way to get her back."
-------------------
2.
You think that the kayak offers stability on an unstable surface. But you are part of the boat when it rolls, and grabbing the sides merely adds mass to the problem. You must use your paddle to support the boat. When you are completely off balance, so much so that you are certain you will topple over -- you bring the paddles down hard on the water's surface, the way ducks bat their wings. You will feel your kayak right itself. Only by moving in the direction you least trust can you be saved.
------------------
3.
All I have to keep me afloat, all I have ever had, is writing. In MAKING TOAST I tried to suggest that the best one can do in a situation such as ours is to get on with it. I believe that still. What I failed to calculate is the pain that increases even as one gets on with it. The response to the book indicated how many others have experienced similar losses and feelings. The letters keep coming. Everybody grieves.
-------------------
4.
"You have to understand," she said. "Grief lasts forever."
"Like death," I said.
"Like death. Except death is someone else's condition, and grief is all yours."
"I feel worse now than I did shortly after she died."
"And you'll feel even worse next year. And worse the year after that, unless you find a way to transform your grief."
"We're back to that."
"We've never left it," she said. "Grief comes to you all at once, so you think it will be all over at once. But it is your guest for a lifetime."
"How should I treat this guest? This unwelcome, uninvited guest?"
"Think of the one who sent it to you," she said.
------------------------------
5.
I thought I'd caught something. Ginny made an appointment for me with our doctor, and insisted that I present him with a list of all my symptoms. "Don't shoot the breeze with him as you always do," she said. "Tell him you're sick."
[The doctor does all the tests and the results came in the following day.] "Not only is there nothing wrong with you," he told me on the phone. "You're in near perfect shape. On paper you're as healthy as a horse." I held the receiver and listened. "Are you depressed?" he asked.
----------------------------
6.
"Something in you has to change," she said.
"I'm too old to change. No, I take that back. I would not change if I were young. I've never changed."
"It's time. You need to believe things you've never believed in."
"I'm not submissive."
"You'd better learn, or you'll turn to stone," she said.
"You've noticed," I said.
"You're hopeless."
"That, too."
She paused. "You need to change."
---------------------
7.
"You think that an injustice has been done, don't you?" she said.
"Don't you? A woman of thirty-eight? A husband without a wife? Children minus a mother? What would you call it?"
"I'm not sure I would call it an injustice. I would have to be aware of the rules before I was sure they'd been broken."
"That's just sophistry."
"Maybe," she said. "But if you go around brooding about a cosmic injustice, you're going to want to redress it."
"And I can't."
"And you can't. Is that another injustice? An injustice within an injustice?"
I shrugged.
"Wouldn't it be smarter," she asked, "to figure out what you can do?"
--------------------------------
8.
The afternoon Ginny and I got the phone call, I said to God, "That's the last prayer you get from me." I regret that I had ever prayed. A prayer is either a request or a song of praise. Even the hallowed "Lord's Prayer" is simply part 'give us' and part 'power and the glory.' I have neither request nor song these days. When I did pray, it was in the spirit of a deal I made with God: I would do as little harm as I could, and he would protect me and my own. To be sure, it was I alone who proposed the bargain. He never said, "I'm in." My friend tells me that God could not save Amy, but that he weeps for her. Call that a god?
--------------------------------
9.
"Ginny doesn't need proof of Amy's presence. She feels it all around her."
"I do not."
"I think you will, sooner or later, for the same reason I could not do my work if I didn't believe in 'that stuff'."
"You're talking about God."
"Not necessarily," she said.
"That's good, because I already believe in God. I just don't like him."
"But he..."
"Don't say it."
She laughed. "Read the book anyway. You're looking to get Amy back."
"If a book could do that......."
---------------------------------
10.
Our daughter dies and there are those who carried her. I shall die and there will be those who carry me. On and on, through the cobblestones of the village, through the swales of the dunes. On and on we bear one another into the bruise-dark waters. The burden of the generations. The burden of burdens. Past the heaving rib and the bloodshot eye. Remembering, forgetting, and remembering again. We are what we never were. Hardly alone.
-----------------
11.
You never let a stranger feel unwelcome or out of place. You never deserted anyone in need. You loved. You gave whatever you had to give. You never wasted anything, especially your life. You healed. You lessened pain. You skipped stones on the water. You loved. You loved shoes. You loved coffee. You loved fancy old restaurants. You loved walks. You loved dogs. You loved jigsaw puzzles. You glowed when you held your children in your arms. You glowed in your wedding dress. You comforted. You loved. You protected. You tossed your head back when you laughed. You smiled when you swam. You loved. When you were five, you stood on my shoes as we danced. You made two syllables of "Dad." The day you were born, I carried you home. You were an ocean in my arms.
------------------
12. [with my underlines]
Love conquers death. No celestial jury will bring Amy back to me. I will not see her, either, no matter how many others may want me to. She will not talk to me. But in the time since she died, I have been aware, every minute, of my love for her. She lives in my love. This morning when I climbed into my kayak and headed out, I knew that I would be going nowhere, as I have been going nowhere for the past two and a half years. But my love for my daughter makes somewhere out of nowhere. In this boat, in this creek, I am moving forward, even as I am moving in circles. Amy returns in my love, alive and beautiful. I have her still.
~~~~~
Grief. The state of mind brought about when love, having lost to death, learns to breathe beside it. See also: Love.
~~~~~
I aim my boat towards the shore.
----------------------------------------
All excerpts from "KAYAK MORNING: reflections on love, grief, and small boats" by Roger Rosenblatt, Ecco/Harper Collin. 2012.
Let me know which ones vibrate with truth for you.
=============================
1. (some of these are conversations with his therapist...)
"It colors everything I do," I said.
"What did you expect?" said my friend.
"I'm in a box."
"Isn't that what grief is?"
"You're the doctor. You tell me."
"What do you want?" she said.
"I want out."
"What do you really want?"
"I want her back."
"Well, she said, "you'll have to find a way to get her back."
-------------------
2.
You think that the kayak offers stability on an unstable surface. But you are part of the boat when it rolls, and grabbing the sides merely adds mass to the problem. You must use your paddle to support the boat. When you are completely off balance, so much so that you are certain you will topple over -- you bring the paddles down hard on the water's surface, the way ducks bat their wings. You will feel your kayak right itself. Only by moving in the direction you least trust can you be saved.
------------------
3.
All I have to keep me afloat, all I have ever had, is writing. In MAKING TOAST I tried to suggest that the best one can do in a situation such as ours is to get on with it. I believe that still. What I failed to calculate is the pain that increases even as one gets on with it. The response to the book indicated how many others have experienced similar losses and feelings. The letters keep coming. Everybody grieves.
-------------------
4.
"You have to understand," she said. "Grief lasts forever."
"Like death," I said.
"Like death. Except death is someone else's condition, and grief is all yours."
"I feel worse now than I did shortly after she died."
"And you'll feel even worse next year. And worse the year after that, unless you find a way to transform your grief."
"We're back to that."
"We've never left it," she said. "Grief comes to you all at once, so you think it will be all over at once. But it is your guest for a lifetime."
"How should I treat this guest? This unwelcome, uninvited guest?"
"Think of the one who sent it to you," she said.
------------------------------
5.
I thought I'd caught something. Ginny made an appointment for me with our doctor, and insisted that I present him with a list of all my symptoms. "Don't shoot the breeze with him as you always do," she said. "Tell him you're sick."
[The doctor does all the tests and the results came in the following day.] "Not only is there nothing wrong with you," he told me on the phone. "You're in near perfect shape. On paper you're as healthy as a horse." I held the receiver and listened. "Are you depressed?" he asked.
----------------------------
6.
"Something in you has to change," she said.
"I'm too old to change. No, I take that back. I would not change if I were young. I've never changed."
"It's time. You need to believe things you've never believed in."
"I'm not submissive."
"You'd better learn, or you'll turn to stone," she said.
"You've noticed," I said.
"You're hopeless."
"That, too."
She paused. "You need to change."
---------------------
7.
"You think that an injustice has been done, don't you?" she said.
"Don't you? A woman of thirty-eight? A husband without a wife? Children minus a mother? What would you call it?"
"I'm not sure I would call it an injustice. I would have to be aware of the rules before I was sure they'd been broken."
"That's just sophistry."
"Maybe," she said. "But if you go around brooding about a cosmic injustice, you're going to want to redress it."
"And I can't."
"And you can't. Is that another injustice? An injustice within an injustice?"
I shrugged.
"Wouldn't it be smarter," she asked, "to figure out what you can do?"
--------------------------------
8.
The afternoon Ginny and I got the phone call, I said to God, "That's the last prayer you get from me." I regret that I had ever prayed. A prayer is either a request or a song of praise. Even the hallowed "Lord's Prayer" is simply part 'give us' and part 'power and the glory.' I have neither request nor song these days. When I did pray, it was in the spirit of a deal I made with God: I would do as little harm as I could, and he would protect me and my own. To be sure, it was I alone who proposed the bargain. He never said, "I'm in." My friend tells me that God could not save Amy, but that he weeps for her. Call that a god?
--------------------------------
9.
"Ginny doesn't need proof of Amy's presence. She feels it all around her."
"I do not."
"I think you will, sooner or later, for the same reason I could not do my work if I didn't believe in 'that stuff'."
"You're talking about God."
"Not necessarily," she said.
"That's good, because I already believe in God. I just don't like him."
"But he..."
"Don't say it."
She laughed. "Read the book anyway. You're looking to get Amy back."
"If a book could do that......."
---------------------------------
10.
Our daughter dies and there are those who carried her. I shall die and there will be those who carry me. On and on, through the cobblestones of the village, through the swales of the dunes. On and on we bear one another into the bruise-dark waters. The burden of the generations. The burden of burdens. Past the heaving rib and the bloodshot eye. Remembering, forgetting, and remembering again. We are what we never were. Hardly alone.
-----------------
11.
You never let a stranger feel unwelcome or out of place. You never deserted anyone in need. You loved. You gave whatever you had to give. You never wasted anything, especially your life. You healed. You lessened pain. You skipped stones on the water. You loved. You loved shoes. You loved coffee. You loved fancy old restaurants. You loved walks. You loved dogs. You loved jigsaw puzzles. You glowed when you held your children in your arms. You glowed in your wedding dress. You comforted. You loved. You protected. You tossed your head back when you laughed. You smiled when you swam. You loved. When you were five, you stood on my shoes as we danced. You made two syllables of "Dad." The day you were born, I carried you home. You were an ocean in my arms.
------------------
12. [with my underlines]
Love conquers death. No celestial jury will bring Amy back to me. I will not see her, either, no matter how many others may want me to. She will not talk to me. But in the time since she died, I have been aware, every minute, of my love for her. She lives in my love. This morning when I climbed into my kayak and headed out, I knew that I would be going nowhere, as I have been going nowhere for the past two and a half years. But my love for my daughter makes somewhere out of nowhere. In this boat, in this creek, I am moving forward, even as I am moving in circles. Amy returns in my love, alive and beautiful. I have her still.
~~~~~
Grief. The state of mind brought about when love, having lost to death, learns to breathe beside it. See also: Love.
~~~~~
I aim my boat towards the shore.
----------------------------------------
All excerpts from "KAYAK MORNING: reflections on love, grief, and small boats" by Roger Rosenblatt, Ecco/Harper Collin. 2012.
Replies
An enormously beautiful prose unhappily in a man who is, at best, agnostic. My daughter did \"come back to me\" ... for ten seconds that saved my life and sanity. God allowed it.
\"\'How should I treat this guest? This unwelcome, uninvited guest?\'
\"Think of the one who sent it to you,\' she said.\"
The one who sent her, the One she\'s with now.
jill
I relate to many of these...shoot...most...maybe all.
But this one...
\"Grief comes to you all at once, so you think it will be all over at once. But it is your guest for a lifetime.\"
\"How should I treat this guest? This unwelcome, uninvited guest?\"
\"Think of the one who sent it to you,\" she said
A guest for a lifetime....yes...grief is...
I would and probably will read the book the same way as you have ~ hungrily skipping past the narrative of what the author is doing in the kayak to discover what he is feeling and processing.
The two passages that resonate with me are:
\"What do you want?\" she said.
\"I want out.\"
\"What do you really want?\"
\"I want her back.\"
\"Well, she said, \"you\'ll have to find a way to get her back.\"
How often have I said \"I just want her back!\" Allie and Hillary will be in town for Corrie\'s birthday (April 6th) and Easter (April 8th) but, oh, how I long for three daughters to be coming back!! And yet ~ Rick, Allie, Hillary and I will each be looking to embrace that sweet sense of Corrie\'s presence with us that weekend.
\"Maybe,\" she said. \"But if you go around brooding about a cosmic injustice, you\'re going to want to redress it.\"
\"And I can\'t.\"
\"And you can\'t. Is that another injustice? An injustice within an injustice?\"
I shrugged.
\"Wouldn\'t it be smarter,\" she asked, \"to figure out what you can do?\"
This has been my stance from Day One ~ maybe we can\'t bring our precious children back and, perhaps, it would be an injustice to them to bring them back. They\'re moving on, expanding their horizons and we need too, as well. I\'m always flailing about trying to figure out just what I CAN do to readjust my life to a lighter sense of being and renewed joy.
I also was struck that he talks about the pain getting worse, not better. For the most part, I am so much stronger and happier than I was three years ago, but when the pain emerges for whatever reason ~ OW ~ intense!!
Thanks for sharing these powerful passages!
Sending lots of love and big weekend hugs ~ Debbie
Number 8 and 12.
I pretty much relate to his feeling about God. At least the one that I was brought up with in Sunday School. I have a faith and I know Lisa is in, for lack of a better term, better place.
Number 12: I am aware that Lisa is around. She \"lives in my love\".
And as Debbie mentioned - the pain. It comes with such intensity. It is something that I now expect. I don\'t fight it or try to deny it. It is part of me and will be until I join Lisa.
Thank you so much for taking the time to share these nuggets.
Hugs, Marlene
Thank you so much for sharing. There
I also love #11... where he says to AMY: \"You loved shoes. You loved coffee. You never wasted anything, especially your life.\" I feel inspired to write something like that for Andy. :*)
love all of them
...yes...an uninvited guest...so true who sent it...embrace it and
...transform our grief...I feel I have become more compassionate and loving...yes, this is the path that has heart.
...lives in my love...profound...he still lives...
Love all of the passages...a must read.
thank you for sharing,
AnnM
The paragraph that I can relate to most is #1...I want him back. Terry
Loved your quotes, as usual. Still reading \" The Art of arcing in The Rain\" and loving it. Garth Stein. My daughter\'s favorite book. Bot will try to find \"kayaking\", later. My seat mate on the train, yesterday, was reading it. She, Jennifer, lost an adult child also, and we became friends. Same age and all. Good trip, recovering today. Love you, Abby
...from 12 on....and the rest in a different way
A must read absolutely... yes, Sarah, in gratitude for your sharing what touches you. I had goose bumps when I read # 4 about the uninvited and unwelcomed guest yet to think of who sent it to me... a total shift of perception for me in that moment. I chose The Guest House by Rumi as one of the readings at Doug\'s celebration of life service and the two have much in common, don\'t they?
In quote #2: \"Only by moving in the direction you least trust can you be saved.\" There is so much for me to unpack in this one sentence... Another shift in my perception.
His vulnerability, his questioning, his searching... I feel a closeness to him and I don\'t feel that with every author that I read when they share what their path has felt like for them. Would adore to share a cup of coffee or better yet a glass of wine with him... :)
In gratitude for your sharing dear Sarah, alway I am and hope you can feel it.
With love,
Joanie
Yes, I loved 12 the very most, and my Jacob does live within my love all the time. Thanks for giving us these beautiful, true, words. Abby
How wonderful, and how kind that you took the time to share this with us. I have not yet reached the anniversary and I found the pain did get worse although recently I did have an epiphany and realised the only way I will survive is to forge a new relationship with Toby, one that does not rely on his physical presence. I had a portrait done, it it a pencil sketch. I have it on my bedroom wall and Toby\'s face is near life size. He is there smiling at me morning and night and I talk to him all the time and share my thoughts.
The phrase \'transform your grief\' is the one that resonates. If we don\'t learn to transform our grief into something feeds us and nurtures us we will remain stuck and die inside. We owe it to our sons and daughters to love, live and go on.
It is morning here in he UK and I have just woken up. What a lovely start to my new day to read thee wonderful words. Thank you my friend. Anne Toby\'s Mom
OK, I\'m almost embarrassed to say it, but WOW! I was hooked immediately!
\"It colors everything I do\".....YES! The gift of it is that now, finally, I see that the color is LOVE. At first I felt black, and all around me was black. Then the world was void of color, myself most assuredly included. Then, miraculously, SPIRIT guided, the rainbow appeared and the rainbow was within me, within Kala, as we are forever within each other.
\"you\'ll have to find a way to get her back\"......OH MY! This is it Sarah! This is it for me! I have found MY way to get her back!!! That\'s why I smile, why I laugh, why I love, why I KNOW. Kala is back in my life in the most powerful and wonderful and magical of ways! I miss her flesh, of course I do, but Sarah, oh my, how I FEEL her every single day!
\"only in moving in the direction you least trust can you be saved\".....YES! It was only after MOVING into the direction of healing, when I had no trust that healing was even possible, that healing came into my soul.
Here\'s to continuing to figure out what I CAN do, and to realizing that grief is my forever \"uninvited guest\", and to moving forward as I learn to breathe beside it.
Breathing beside YOU my friend~~Teri.
10.
Our daughter dies and there are those who carried her. I shall die and there will be those who carry me. On and on, through the cobblestones of the village, through the swales of the dunes. On and on we bear one another into the bruise-dark waters. The burden of the generations. The burden of burdens. Past the heaving rib and the bloodshot eye. Remembering, forgetting, and remembering again. We are what we never were. Hardly alone.
I love everything about this...the rhythm...the lyrical appeal....the meaning...and the language \"bruise-dark waters\"...love it!!!!!\"Past the heaving rib...the bloodshot eye.\".....It is US...it is ME....\"remembering. forgetting, and remembering again.\".......It all makes so much sense...it is truth....it is ME....\"We are what we never were.\"
Thank you Sarah, I just love it.....that was of course, my favorite of all of them although they are all good. Love and Brandon bear hugs, dale...brandon\'s mom
How poignant. I was struck by all of it. I\'ve heard about his MAKING TOAST book but never got around to reading it. Maybe I should... Thank you for sharing yet another brilliant writer with us. Love to you Dear Sarah, Cherie