Why ‘Grieve’ Is the Word of the Year
Grief never ends because love never ends
The last few years, I’ve become a commuter, though I suppose I always was in some attenuated way. My current commute ranges widely. Sometimes, it is just the 25 minutes it takes me to drive from my apartment in Vermont to my classroom in New Hampshire and back again. As my husband still works in New York, sometimes it is the five hours I travel to him, on the bus. And then I have been traveling more than ever, touring for my new book, and teaching writing in far flung places, either exotic or mundane — Florence, Italy or Portland, Oregon, for example — and everywhere I go, I take my tiny suitcase that rolls and a shoulder bag balanced on top of it. I usually carry too many things and my knees are paying the price.
What I describe, though, started after the election. I would be simply going along with my day, and then I would just stop. I would usually be listening to the news on the radio, or looking at tweets after turning off the ignition in my car. I would find myself just sitting there, unable to commute any further. A tiredness so deep I could scarcely believe it.
Who do you think is going to carry you, I began to tease myself. For months, I wondered why, but then one night this fall, I had a memory of when I would be tired but not quite asleep at the end of…
