Soon after my dad died I recalled this book he’d given me. It was about celebrities and Hollywood gossip and secrets uncovered. I can’t even remember what it was called or who’d written it, and I don’t think I’d given it more than a quick skim before shelving it on my bookcase to collect dust.
I’d been confused about why he gave me that particular book in the first place. What do I care about celebrities? (Yes, I feel terrible about being such a jerk of a daughter back then.) Sidenote: funnily enough, nowadays one of my favourite things to do is go diving deep down into celebrity gossip rabbitholes, and I’m well-known for rattling off random info about people like … Leighton Meester, for example (you know she’s married to Adam Brody? And that her mother was serving a prison sentence when she was born?? I kid you not).
And the thing is, though Dad’s gift seemed somewhat random at the time, he always put thought into the gifts he gave, and in hindsight, I think he saw more of me than I realised at the time.
But the book is not the thing I was really searching for after Dad died. What I desperately wanted from it was the notes I know he’d made in the margins. He often did that; scribbled notes, highlighted text throughout books – blasphemy for some of us book lovers! Yet, on his passing I wanted to see, read, hold onto, clutch onto his words. I knew if I could read what he’d written I’d be able to hear his voice and he would come back to life in my mind.
A ghost of who he was, yes, but one I could conjure when I wanted and could ‘see’ in my mind clearly; a blessing for one like me whose memory isn’t always the best as I try to recall phrases or sentences a person has said without anything tangible and the words, the sounds are blurry and muddied.
Unfortunately, when it came to the celebrity book, I’d been stupid. I’m pretty sure I’d taken that book along with a bunch of others to sell at a second-hand market. I usually have trouble parting with things, and I did hold onto that book for many years before adding it to the ‘part with’ pile, but now this thing I wanted so badly because it contained Dad’s words, his voice, and what I felt was a direct connection to who he was, was gone.
I cried, I berated myself (such a jerk of a daughter!), and I mourned all over again. (Or still, rather.)
I’ve since found Dad’s words elsewhere. There’s a sheet of paper filled with a kind of poem or song, it’s even marked with the time it was written: 12:50am.
That piece of paper filled with my father’s own words takes me right back to when I was a little kid. I’d wake in the middle of the night and creep into the living room to find Dad sitting in front of the stereo, headphones on as he listened to music, ashtray at close hand as cigarette smoke swirled around him.
I can imagine him writing those words on a night like that.
I can see the crooked finger on his hand from where he’d broken it and it’d never healed. I would often ask to see that finger and I’d try to straighten it and curve it back up like the others (my poor dad!) as if somehow I could fix it for him.
I can see his fingers strumming his guitar as he’d sing about kangarilla bats and other crazy animal names he’d make up and sing about.
I could keep going as all these memories and moments appear and connect to one another from simply seeing and reading and ‘hearing’ his words.
Written words are so precious. They’re a kind of magic that conjure parts of the person who wrote them.
For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.
Mary Oliver was speaking specifically about poetry, but that particular line from her book (A Poetry Handbook) made me realise that it’s exactly how I feel about precious words from loved ones. The scraps of paper and notes I search for when I’m in need of a rope to lead me to what feels lost, when I need to remember the essence of that person.
The written word is so powerful, for many more reasons than what I’ve tried to convey here, and I can only hope that my words, those I leave behind, offer some kind of comfort to my loved ones after I’m gone.
There’s this idea I’ve had in my head for a few years now … I’d like to start visiting nursing homes and speaking with residents who might want to leave some of their own words behind for their loved ones. I’d like to speak with them, write down the things they want written down, whether it be in the form of a letter, a story or stories, or perhaps they’d like to record audio of their words.
The idea is that I’d keep their words safe until they’ve passed then get them to their loved ones.
Words may not be the thing that everyone clings to when trying to remember someone who’s passed, but I suspect it may be helpful for many like me, and probably some who don’t yet realise the power of written words.
I have no clue how to go about this idea, when/if I’ll be able to actually do it, or if people would even be interested, but I wanted to get it out there, written down to see if these words could work some of that all-powerful magic and help me figure it all out.
This post isn’t what I’d planned for this week, but after the passing of a family member’s family member (extended family, really), I had so many thoughts and feelings swirling that pushed their way to the surface.
Sending much love to those missing loved ones right now, within my family, as well as anyone else going through the process of grief. May you find things that bring you some measure of comfort during times like this.
I acknowledge the Darkinyung people as the Traditional Custodians of the land on which I live and work, and I pay my respects to the Elders past and present.
Hi Melissa, this article resonates, as, you might have seen, that Mum passed away in January. 96 was a very good innings. Mum wrote down a lot of things and even had diary’s later in life - but, more for practical things. There are a few journals, that can trigger memories and I bought one at Dymocks, which she wrote in. Her beautiful handwriting was fading, too. Luckily, her memory was still pretty good. I feel we all should have something like that, to write in, when we’re younger. It was sad going into Mums aged care, the last 3 years, as, so many of them have dementia. And Mum wasn’t even in the dementia ward. But, company was always welcome. Actually, one of the guys there, lived a very interesting life - shopping with Michael Jackson, meeting and working with some of the big stars over the years. Another lady had triplets. It’s surprising when you delve into some peoples lives. Anyway, thanks for your article - it was really interesting. Excited for you, about your book. How awesome is that? xx