Hope A 9/15/15 Hope A 9/15/15

Now There Are Only Words Left

http://www.beacon.org/New-and-Selected-Poems-Volume-One-P1082.aspx Mary Oliver reads her poem, "The Summer Day," Copyright 1990. "The Summer Day" first appeared in House of Light (Beacon Press, 1990), and has been reprinted in New and Selected Poems, Volume 1 (Beacon Press, 1992) and The Truro Bear and Other Adventures (Beacon Press, 2008).

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? ---Mary Oliver, The Summer Day

I know you've heard this one, I know you have heard this and maybe one other Mary Oliver poem, maybe a dozen times (depending on how many yoga classes and self-care workshops you've taken). But listen again. It is shared often for a reason.

There are cliches about death. About it making you reevaluate your life. It is a cliche because a death shakes up your life, your order. We don't talk about it enough, it is not a part of our cultural fabric, though it is so obviously the end of the cycle, the inescapable release from our bodies. Yet, the denial is strong, along with the anger and the other stages I am still working on.

In her the advice column Dear Sugar, Sugar tells a grieving man that her six year old son once told her: “We don’t know how many years we have for our lives. People die at all ages.” Meaning, we only have so many years. And then there are no more.

Sometimes when things were tough, and I didn't want to talk about the tough things anymore, I would write my friend a list of the good things, small things to appreciate that do not eliminate the difficult but make the hard times worthwhile.

So here is the good things list:

Responses to Keep Writing number 77, how to deal with sadness, how to stay useful. I designed this and printed this before Travis died, before i had received the letter that said he was having a hard time. This is a coincidence. The great part has been the extra comfort from friends and strangers, hearing more about all our struggles and how we cope.
Phone calls. I said I wanted to keep in touch with friend better since this happened. Sometimes I call. Not as frequent as I like, but there is at least one friend who I talk to more often and our conversations have been immensely comforting.
NY I have been wanting to return to New England in October, my favorite and when home felt more like home. I have friends in Philly and Boston and Maine I'd like to see. Instead I have 4 days in NY but I am grateful to grieve with friends, to walk streets with changing leaves and smell crisp air.
Poetry I haven't been reading as much poetry as I used to but I have been copying poems I like, with a typewriter and by hand, and collecting them, a small binder clip of words that speak to me. I like poetry because you have to slow down to read it, pay attention.
Slowing Down As in reading poetry too i have been paring down my life, slowing down. It might not look that way, I am still very active, but I try not to waste time, to take more walks, to work hard at the things I love.

That's it for now. The hard part about lists is the tendency to oversimplify. And though some of these things are a result of something tragic and difficult, I still grieve, I still wish my friend could write back. I am still not ready to know he will never write back.

Keep Writing number 78, text by Travis Fristoe

Hope A 8/12/15 Hope A 8/12/15

The Paths We Choose, part 2

When I designed last month's postcard about sadness and trying to stay useful, I had no idea a friend was going through such a difficult time. When I wrote about ways to deal with sadness, to feel useful and engaged, I did not know my friend was in rehab. A short letter came at the end of the month, and then, two days later, a small pile of book and a birthday note. They were brief, hopeful and yet still a surprise to me.

A week later he took his own life.

There are a lot of "what ifs" after a suicide. What if I had called? Did I tell him I love him in the last letter? Did he know? Did he even receive it? Unexpected deaths always carry the weight of a path severed, a plan altered. Here are the choices we make, here are the choices made for us, by others.

It is difficult to convey the weight of this loss. We had not seen each other in years but wrote frequently. The ripples of his kindness, generosity, willingness to listen, and sincerity affected many people I know all over the country. It has been comforting to see the social media outreach of people who knew him, the ever-growing circle of friends, acquaintances, pen pals, fans of his writing and music. It is too late to tell him one more time how much he meant to us, though whatever darkness he faced was clearly all engulfing. His struggle was fierce, he was full of love and sometimes that is not enough.

Reading through his letters and zines, I find references to difficulty and darkness, but always, always there is a strength, a determination to rise above. He fought a good fight and hopefully his words will continue to inspire others, encourage love and criticism as a form of love. If there must be a lesson let it be this: stay smart, alert, questioning and open, friends. Please don't stuff down the sadness, it is all a part of this. Bring it into the light. Love love love.

Travis Fristoe died August 7, 2015. There have been more than a few writings about how he affected those around him, and I especially appreciate this from Nate Powell. He is survived by a baby daughter, Astrid, his wife Avery and his stepdaughter. A fund was started to help this family, including baby Astrid, through this time and beyond. Contribute if you like at http://www.gofundme.com/4vrg8jw4 .

I doubt this will be the last I write of this. Maybe next time, there will be more stories. Like that time I was his houseguest for maybe too many weeks. I was homeless, traveling, dealing with a difficult break-up. I didn't sleep at night. More than one night I climbed the tree in front of his house as the sun came up, listening to tapes on a walkman, until his neighbors came out and left for work, kindly ignoring the girl in the tree. Travis never said I was a bad houseguest and let me visit a bunch more times after that. Rest in peace and power.