We often write about painful things not in spite of the pain, but because of it—the pain itself tells us that something important occurred.
I tried to lean into the dark, unexpected humor of grief when I found it, and recognize the places where light could seep through the cracks. I reminded myself why I was writing this story in the first place, in the hope that others might read it and feel less alone, because I have always felt that this is partly how personal writing justifies its existence. And on the hardest days, I told myself, This will take as long as it takes. If you aren’t ready to write it now, you can wait.
Grief is, as many have noted, love in another shape. As another friend told me: It’s how you know that something precious was lost. It can be a powerful place to write from, which is not to say that a writer must do so, or that we ever owe anyone else our wounds. Eventually I decided that it was not only unavoidable, but also perhaps important for me to feel the immediacy, the constantly shifting nature of loss, while I worked on this story. After so many things I didn’t choose, I chose that much—not to offer a clear-cut answer or tidy lesson, but to try to name and make sense of where I was. Where others who mourn may be, too.
- Author:: Nicole Chung
- Original