On October 6th, 2022, an old, pudgy man on a bicycle tried to cross over a four lane highway and was hit by a Nissan Altima going 57 miles an hour in the left lane.
Levi, thanks for writing this. I’m sure it was difficult, and I appreciate your vulnerability to allow us in to this tender place.
After the initial, intentionally sterile and aloof description of the accident, once you backtracked to his first awakening on that pivotal day, I was confused, wondering how you could know all those details about what your dad was thinking and doing the morning of his accident and death. But once I realized it was your speculations, possibility after possibility, I was able to engage it more, with engaged interest and tenderness, feeling I was safe to follow these samples of his possible actions from the viewpoint of a son who sought to see him both clearly and through eyes of love. I really liked your pattern and your narrator interruptions to disagree and reset the scene. You revealed many small details of your dad’s personality and surroundings and life—a glimpse behind a curtain drawn closed.
This is a wonderful version of grief therapy. I am imagining you feeling connected to your grief as you wrote this, connected to pops to your memories of him as you remembered all the details of just what he usually would do in a day at home, thinking through all the questions of what happened that day while his life was still his and ours. I love that idea of creatively processing these things! And I would say it’s interesting to read too, not just a journal entry sort of reading experience. It was good for me to read it and remember just how he was.
This is beautiful, Levi. I love how you capture that feeling of trying to understand something that happened that you can never fully know. The recounting of each possibility feels so real to the experience of grief. Your descriptions are beautiful and poetic as well. I hope you find some healing in writing this.
Levi, thanks for writing this. I’m sure it was difficult, and I appreciate your vulnerability to allow us in to this tender place.
After the initial, intentionally sterile and aloof description of the accident, once you backtracked to his first awakening on that pivotal day, I was confused, wondering how you could know all those details about what your dad was thinking and doing the morning of his accident and death. But once I realized it was your speculations, possibility after possibility, I was able to engage it more, with engaged interest and tenderness, feeling I was safe to follow these samples of his possible actions from the viewpoint of a son who sought to see him both clearly and through eyes of love. I really liked your pattern and your narrator interruptions to disagree and reset the scene. You revealed many small details of your dad’s personality and surroundings and life—a glimpse behind a curtain drawn closed.
Wow, thank you for the really useful feedback Jeanice!
This is a wonderful version of grief therapy. I am imagining you feeling connected to your grief as you wrote this, connected to pops to your memories of him as you remembered all the details of just what he usually would do in a day at home, thinking through all the questions of what happened that day while his life was still his and ours. I love that idea of creatively processing these things! And I would say it’s interesting to read too, not just a journal entry sort of reading experience. It was good for me to read it and remember just how he was.
Thank you Gretchen, yes it has been therapeutic and healing to write about him.
This is beautiful, Levi. I love how you capture that feeling of trying to understand something that happened that you can never fully know. The recounting of each possibility feels so real to the experience of grief. Your descriptions are beautiful and poetic as well. I hope you find some healing in writing this.
Thank you Emily! I’m glad you enjoyed it and that the grieving, questioning mindset came through.