Honesty and resilience

“Listen, Paula, I am going to tell you a story, so that when you wake up you will not feel so lost.” 
(Allende, HarperCollins, 1995.)

    
These words of author Isabel Allende appear near the beginning of her memoir, Paula, named for her 28-year-old daughter who died in 1992 after a nearly yearlong battle with porphyria, an unusual blood disease. Allende’s storytelling begins as a sincere plea to encourage her daughter to good health. By the time you reach the end, Allende’s impetus for writing has evolved into something else.

As I reviewed the hundreds of books, articles, and other materials for my dissertation research, Paula was among the first memoirs to catch my attention and touch my heart.

I suspect this, at least in part, is why so many of us are attracted to memoirs about the loss of a loved one, though the reasons are unique for each of us. These are stories that touch us, comfort us, change us, because they let us in to another person’s suffering and allow us to share their pain.

Something happens in this process, though I am not a psychologist, so my observations are those of a grad student sorting through the issues of grief communication. Of course we feel empathy for the author, as we relate to their pain and understand it. We may feel admiration for the author’s ability to express her feelings so powerfully. We may just appreciate the honesty.

This form of memoir writing -- the grief memoir -- has grown in popularity for at least the last 10 years, not coincidentally in the years since the terrorist attacks of 9/11. While I am still researching data to validate this apparent rise in popularity of memoirs that share stories of a loved one who has died, I can say that I have had no trouble finding relevant examples.

 
I also can say that the grief memoirs I have discovered each seem to offer a distinct reason which compels the author to share his or her personal grief in such a public, tangible manner. I expect I will mention some of these books here as I walk, because I am finding them so valuable in the human experience as much as they are contributing to my scholarly pursuits. 

Allende is such a wonderful writer, you don’t even realize as she begins her tale that she is drawing you into a history lesson. Her memoir weaves the tale of her childhood through the horrors of dictatorship after her cousin, Chilean President Salvador Allende, is assassinated.

While her childhood left the mark of tragedy on her memory, Allende writes about her daughter’s illness as the second tragedy to “put its stamp” on her existence. What she says next is a recurring point of discussion in my grief research: “I will never again be the person I was.”

Here, Allende is undergoing the heartbreak of her daughter’s incomprehensible and frightening illness, and she realizes a clarity that for many people does not emerge for months, perhaps even years, after the death of a loved one.

That recognition of the irrevocable change that has taken place can be a critical, even pivotal, acknowledgement.  Adjusting to that truism, however, may take time. We will get “reminders” over time and they will be difficult to accept. These are the moments when we remember that our loved one is gone, and the familiar patterns of our lives are all mixed up.   

By the time we reach the deeper chapters of Allende’s heartache, we are given the hard truth. Allende confides: “I am no longer writing so when my daughter wakes up she will not feel so lost, because she is not going to wake up. These are pages Paula will never read….” 

Again, Allende demonstrates a clear understanding of what she is going through. The fact that she is able to put the words to paper -- to commit to them in a way that makes them real -- is astonishing. The writing experience is a personal one, regardless of what one is writing. The words come from our innermost selves, calling for honesty in expression and accuracy in the selection of words, tone, and emotion.

I have one other reason to suggest why we are drawn to grief memoirs like Allende’s. She is a survivor. She has survived the tragedy of losing her beloved daughter, and found a way to transform that painful experience into a story to be shared with others. 

I think, deep down, we admire that resilience. We want it for ourelves, but are not sure we have it in us. I’m going to take a risk here and reassure you, you do.

For more information on Isabel Allende and her works, you can visit her website at www.isabelallende.com.

Copyright 2011 by Marianne V. Heffernan