Dark Skies
Monday, September 15, 2008
The loss of writer David Foster Wallace to an apparent suicide this weekend darkened skies already darkened by Ike, by skurvy politics, by homes and home lives forfeited to an economy that can't got a hold of itself. Wind, rain, floods, and a man too certain that no more choices existed, that tomorrow wasn't something to be waited for or looked toward. He was a writer, a teacher, a husband, a son. He was loved.
I am reeling for him and for those who loved him, just as I am reeling for the boy at a beautiful college who took his own life last week. I am holding my breath for the freshmen and freshwomen everywhere who are finding their way inside new walls, feeling their way toward light.
Sometimes I think words are the most fragile things there are.
Sometimes they are my grounding, my earth.
Today I do not rise above or even rise to anything but this: Hope for tomorrow. Hope for healing. Hope for a coming easiness.
4 comments:
Your words are beautiful. Thank you.
I can't imagine what a sad place these people must have been in. Too hard.
What a great post.
Cuileann, thank you. Your words are beautiful, too (those created near 4 AM). I appreciate your allegiance to books you love.
PJ: It is too hard.
What a lovely post, Beth. Some days (more than others) I'm aware that it's miraculous this fragile world and the people in it hold together at all.
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