LEAVING LETTERS: "We would find each other again"
postcards from readers
A TIME I LEFT:
The last time I saw my
father alive was about
6 weeks before his death.
We touched foreheads
and promised we would
find each other again.
This postcard sank its teeth straight into my heart. I retained the original structure above as the writer wrote it because it felt and looked almost like a poem. How else could so few words make such an intense impact?
The connection between this writer and their father feels so potent and as a reader I truly believe they will find one another again. I consider myself a pragmatist when it comes to death, more unsentimental than most, since death was such an everyday discussion at my dinner table. I accept the concept of death, readily. But this does not mean I feel loss any less.
My mother worked in hospice care from the time I was twelve years old and I was excited to be able to write about this—and the habit I picked up along the way of writing my own obituary most years—for The NY Times Opinion section this weekend. I’m grateful to my editor,
, for guiding me on how to move this essay idea into an invitation to others. And boy, did readers respond! I’ve had the loveliest conversations with people about this topic in the past 24 hours and hope folks will continue to share with me how the piece and exercise works for them.
My mother has shared moments from her work over the years (always respecting the privacy of the families and patients she worked with) and I know that she views this work as a privilege. This is not a platitude. That space we inhabit at the end is unlike any other and if you have ever been at someone’s deathbed, you know what I mean. I can’t imagine the strength my mother required to return, over and over, to this work that only ever had one outcome. What I came to understand, through time and critical distance, is that the death itself is beside the point.
Similarly, in writing my own obituary over and over, I am able to craft what is left of my life. As the old saying goes, the only thing that’s certain in life is death and taxes, but we sure give a lot more airtime to taxes at our debates and dinner tables. A living obituary gives us the chance to read the lasting details of our lives in black and white and determine what we’d like to revise.
“As the old saying goes, the only thing that’s certain in life is death and taxes, but we sure give a lot more airtime to taxes at our debates and dinner tables.”
This is what comes through with this particular postcard for me. The kind of leaving they are describing—both death as a leaving, but also a last goodbye knowing someone is going to die, which is what I believe is the subject here—is beyond revision. These two people have lived their time on the planet together and accepted that it has come to an end. There is clarity in that, and, surprisingly, so much hope. The gentleness of touching foreheads, of that promise, of the taking leave, reminds me of the power we have while we are still here, no matter how short or long our stay.
WHAT I’M READING:
On My Nightstand: Currently, after two intense weeks of edits and crossing fingers that my essay wouldn’t get bumped by the Dingus Mayor’s shenanigans, the only thing on my nightstand is Sunday’s New York Times! If you’d like to read my essay, “Why I Write My Own Obituary Every Year,” here is a gift link to read it in full on the NYTimes website.
On Substack: Speaking of the Dingus Mayor, I am still holding my side that split open from reading Lyz Lenz’s fiery takedown of Eric Adams in her Dingus of the Week report on her very excellent
substack. I mean, Lyz is one smart and funny lady, but this week’s Dingus report was exceptional. Read it here:
The Leaving Season Postcard Project was born out of my love for postcards and a suspicion that we are all leaving things, all the time. If you’d like to send me a postcard, please check out this link for instructions.
Want to be part of The Leaving Season Postcard Project? Or use the postcards in your classroom or bookclub? Send me a note!
The Magpie is a newsletter about writing, creativity, hopes, and obsessions. I’m so happy to have you in this community.
If The Magpie has sparked your interest, I’d love it if you would share it with a friend.
As always, more of what I’m up to can be found on my website, and you can follow me on Instagram for day-to-day updates.
Buy The Leaving Season here, Welcome to Shirley here, Wanting: Women Writing About Desire here, and This is the Place: Women Writing About Home here.
Thank you, Kelly for the perspective I needed to hear. Your book, The Leaving Season, opened a door for me. I’m going to try writing an obit. So much grace in my day-to-day.