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
Sarah, I will be reading this book. I am trying to find a way to get him back...Thank you. Much love to you and Andy, Linda
Thanks, Sarah. I just put in a reserve for the book at my library. It has to be sent from another branch but should get it in a few days. Thank you for sharing this. Love you, Belinda
I really appreciated this book too. There is something so modest and simple and just \"there\" about Rosenblatt\'s grief. He expresses so well what a lonely yet human struggle this is. Thanks for sharing these passages=-they are all among my favorites. Love to you, L
Whoa - I can\'t keep up with your books.....still reading \" Let\'s Take The Long Way Home \" !......well, in my defence I have been distracted a little on the way, but still.....thank you so much for providing me with a reading list. So much better than the Indianapolis Star\'s!!!!!
\"... unless you find a way to transform your grief.\"
number11 for number9... for every loved one i lost.
keep writing Sarah ... i feel inspirANDY in everything YOU write of him. true dat!
Wow - Sarah - those passages resonate so deeply within my being - it could have been my own words and probably have been at times. Thank you so much for giving me a peek into this book - another soul on the journey. I just finished reading The Shack and need some time to recover - but, I do intend to pick this one up and read/absorb his words. You do honor Andy everytime you/ve put words to page - I can always feel him in your warmth of being. So Lovely you are in my life. Love you...Suzzanne
Fascinating journal Sarah...not sure how I missed this...Actually something resonates with me in each passage...some yays, some nays...For bevity\'s sake (you know me, I could write a pageful of \"comments\" LOL) I\'ll select #12 because just this morning I was thinking about \"Hope conquers Death.\" The first thing that strikes me is how negative he sounds..\"I will never this\" \"I will never that\" in #12....
I feel that unless one is \"open\"-- one cannot \"receive\"--to me it appears to be a self-fulfilling prophecy kind of thing he\'s got going on with these statements...He also says he\'s \"going nowhere\" like he has been for two years... yet then he contradicts this by saying that Amy\'s love has taken him somewhere...Two hard years of self reflection takes one SOMEPLACE different...we\'re not robots! He speaks of going around in circles yet going forward...what I believe he\'s referring to is the occurrence of the \"two steps forward, one step back... \"one step forward...two steps back\"...dance step that we all partake of on this bereavement journey...we are heading forward but it\'s not always a smooth movement...Of course her love lives within his heart... it always has from the day she was born...what I believe also is akin to a \"Step Two\"...he will have reunion with Amy\'s physical self at a future time...the giant \"leap of faith\" that needs to be undertaken... and it\'s not easy to jump into unseen waiting arms...Actually that reminds me of my getting off a train once in Russia...one had to LEAP into the arms of a waiting Russian woman who would \"catch\" you and prevent you from falling back into a deep ditch which was between you and her...Can I say scary? It was dark outside...(near midnite!) my knee had stiffened up during the ride over (could I even leap?) and it was near midnite AND I had to carry my suitcase too, (no chivalry present on that train) at the time I made this earthly \"leap of faith.\" I made it ok, but almost pooped my pants lol...But I digress...Great journal as usual, Sarah! Love+Hugs, Donna