“He died after I tried to.” “I’m here and he is gone.” D.S. Waldman revisits the space between his own near-death and the death of his brother, drawing on a trio of poems to better understand the narrow threshold that only one of them crossed.
For two days we swam in the brisk Atlantic water, grilled burgers and brats, read in low deck chairs in the shade. It wasn’t until my friend and I were tasked with a general store run that the stream of texts, missed calls, and voicemails barraged my phone, unleashed by my sudden resumption of cell service. Reading and listening to the messages in the car, I pieced together the play-by-play: your brother’s sick . . . your brother is in the hospital . . . your brother is in the ICU. Can you catch a flight? Can you come home? Please call.
More picks about making sense of loss
The Deaths—and Lives—of Two Sons
“The truth is that however I choose to express myself will not live up to the weight of these facts: Vincent died, and then James died.”
Solastalgia
“Pleasant memories of places past: that’s nostalgia. But what do you call the grief that comes when the modern world leaves nary a trace of the place that raised you?”
In Every Nelson He Visits, Jeff Truesdell Finds the Man He Loved
“How do you live with the loss of a loved one? For Truesdell, it means visiting every Nelson in North America.”
