The comfort books
Nine years ago this morning, everything seemed right in my life. It was the second Monday of a new job, features editor at a daily newspaper in Western Colorado. I started off by meeting a columnist at a locally owned coffee shop before driving to my downtown office. I can’t recall the day’s mundane details now, but I probably parked at the top level of the municipal parking deck and admired the mountainous views surrounding my place in the Roaring Fork Valley. I walked the block to my office and spent the day lining up interviews that would help me fill my section of the paper. My biggest problem was working on Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day, observed.
Nine years ago tonight, my family changed forever.
After I returned from work, I checked my Facebook messages and emails. My sister Cristin’s coworkers had reached out to our mother and me. Cristin didn’t show up at the office or log in remotely, and they couldn’t get in touch with her. Maybe we could?
I spent the evening trying to find someone who could access my sister’s New York City apartment. (Years passed before I realized I could have called the local police for a wellness check.) When her new roommate went home and opened Cristin’s bedroom door, she found my sister unresponsive. Cristin was dead. She had been dead, though we don’t know exactly how long.
That night, I went to bed with one of my favorite novels beside me, the way a small child might cradle a stuffed animal to self-soothe. I couldn’t bring myself to read “Looking for Alaska.” I’m unsure now if I even cracked the spine that night. But it’s a novel I’ve turned to when I need help unleashing pent-up emotions. It felt right to have it at my side as my family took on a new shape.
Now I have a collection I refer to as my “comfort books.” They don’t all feature tragedy or loss–though those are the kinds of titles my friends have come to know me for. They’re simply the books I turn to when I need soothing. They remind me that grief is normal–it often means you’ve had the opportunity to love. They highlight the connections between people and the many ways we hold one another up. They make me cry, but just as often they bring me joy. They’re the books I turn to when I don’t know what else to do, whether it’s because I’m in an emotionally difficult place or because I’m in a reading rut.
Neither of those descriptions quite mirror where I am as I reflect on the hardest moments of my life. I’m emotionally balanced and physically well, and I’m uplifted by people who know what this week means to me. I’m supported.
I’m also turning to another book that will land on the virtual shelves of The Grief Library, and perhaps my comfort books shelf, as well. Maggie O’Farrell’s “Hamnet” released at exactly the wrong time for me; the last thing I wanted to read in 2020 was a novel about a plague. (Don’t worry, things worked out OK for her.) It may seem odd to read a book about a child’s death on the week in which I recall my sister’s death, but it makes sense to me. (I also want to read the novel before I see the film adaptation, which is showing at my favorite local theater through next week.)
Regardless of how my relationship to this book develops, turning pages remains one of the most comforting gifts I give myself, in times both good and tough. I’d love to know: What do you read when you need comfort?
A few relevant links for your reading this week:
- In her column “What Great Art Saves When Nothing Else Lasts,” Margaret Renkl reflects on “Hamnet”–the book and the film–and how its portrayal of art speaks to a difficult world. This piece helped nudge me to finally pick up the book.
- Six months after my sister’s death, I reflected on the bookstore gift card friends gave me and the book I bought to ease me into this new phase of life. Before too long I’m sure I’ll write more about that book, “A Man Called Ove” by Fredrik Backman. It was also adapted for film, by the way, and it made me weep.
- Have you read “The Year of Magical Thinking”? I shared my experience with it in my last post. I’d love to hear your take.
- And just for fun, a recollection of the time I met “Looking for Alaska” author John Green and could barely speak my own name.
Disclosure: I am an affiliate of Bookshop.org and I will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase via the link in this post.