Writing groups, books and shared grief
I am a member of the several writing groups. One of them is Write About It, a writing group based in the Austin community area's North Austin branch library. I originally attended their very first meeting to do an article about it. And, originally, I was going to attend every once in a while, when my work required me to be in that part of Austin anyway, but I liked the people so much that I found myself going there practically every week.
The past two years haven't been kind to Write About it. Our founder, Arystine, lost her mother and, more recently, back in August, her son. Another member, Ron, lost his wife. I lost my grandmother. And, on January 30, 2021, we lost one of our own.
Judith wasn't one of the original members, but she has been a member more than long enough to be safely considered part of our core group. She was in her 80s, and white. I assumed that she was one of the older residents who simply never left during the White Flight, but it turned out that she and her husband moved to Austin from Logan Square relatively recently, in the early 2000s. And they moved to one of majority-Black parts of Austin.
Judith was working on revising a romance novel she abandoned 20 years earlier. She eventually finished it up, and started working on another piece, a murder mystery. Both pieces offered some interesting insight into her personal history, and the parts of American society I never really experienced before. The romance novel was based on her experience growing up in a paper mill town in Maine, and the murder mystery was based on her experience living in pre-gentrification Logan Square back in the 1990s. She never made any secret of the fact that she simply didn't get the science fiction I brought to the group, but she said she appreciated the quality of my writing, and character development.
Like me, Judith survived cancer - though her cancer was worse than mine, and, unfortunately, it didn't stay in remission. We've talked sometimes about the toll chemo takes on the body, just how tired it can leave you.
When the pandemic happened, she was the Write About It member I worried about the most. I could appreciate, more than any other members of the group could, how chemo can weaken the immune system. I was relieved when I got e-mailed from her, and, when we started to meet on Zoom, I was relieved every time I saw her tune in.
It wasn't COVID-19 that killed her, or even cancer. It was a heart attack. By the time one of her daughters found her on the floor, it may well have been too late.
Judith's family held a wake, of sorts, on February 6. Her husband, Tom, invited the long-time members, because the group was important to her and she would've wanted us there. We, of course, readily accepted the invitation.
It took place in a restaurant in West Town. The experience was a bit surreal, because it was a first time I was at a gathering like this since the start of the pandemic, and the first time the group met together IRL. With vaccines only available to a small subset of the population, guests basically took turns coming and going, just to make sure the event never exceeded capacity limits. The group got its own table, and I sat next to Elaine, the only other group member to survive a bout with COVID-19. We agreed that it made sense to put together the people who definitely couldn't infect each other.
I met Tom for the first time, and some of the relatives I only heard about from Judith's stories. We talked to a few other relatives and signed the guestbook. Arystine gave a speech on the behalf of the entire group, sharing memories and offering condolences. I wish I could've stuck around longer than I did, but my mom wanted me to visit Grandma Nina to check on some heating issues at her apartment, which I suppose was necessary... But I still wish there was a way I could've stayed longer, talked to more people, said more.
What I remember most about that wake was one of Judith's other daughters reading an essay she wrote shortly after her mom's cancer returned. She talked about how they didn't always get along, and how they rebuilt their relationship, and how grateful she was for her mom's patience and support, and how it was so infuriatingly unfair that she could lose her mom now, after all of that.
Flash-forward to September. The core group got an e-mail from Elaine, explaining that Tom intended to sell the house and basically spend the rest of his life traveling with few possessions. Before he had the big estate sale, he wanted us Write About It members to have the first pick of Judith's books. Three of us ended up coming over on Oct. 1 - me, Elaine and Arystine.
Elaine offered to pick me up at the Central/Lake Green Line 'L' station and drive me to Judith's house. It was close enough to the station that I could have easily walked over there, but I figured... I don't know. I guess I figured it would be polite.
Before this, I only saw Judith's house from the distance, when Elaine dropped her off. This time, I got to not only get a better look at it, but actually got to see inside. If it weren't for the heart-wrenching circumstances, it would've been kind of neat. It was one of those old-school, fancy Austin homes, a green two-story thing with a decent-sized front yard (by Chicago standards) and a porch.
Tom didn't open right away, but once we got inside, the interior was just as interesting, well-decorated, filled with all kinds of interesting maps, old-school posters, furnishings and souvenirs. I really wish I had a chance to walk around and asked about some of the things, but given the circumstances...
When I saw Tom back in February, he looked and sounded dazed. I imagine he was still trying to process Judith's death. Now, he was agitated and tense like a guitar string ready to snap. Sometimes, he all but demanded that we take some books, only to quickly backtrack and say that it was up to us, but it would be really good for us to take those books. Tory, the daughter who lived with the Judith and Tory and the one who found her, wasn't doing that much better.
I don't know if it was stress and grief, or just her usual personality (I suspect it was a bit of both), but I quickly discovered that Tory held nothing back and had no filter whatsoever. She outright told me and Elaine that it was really hard dealing with her dad, and how she was only sticking around to keep an eye on him and how, as soon as the house is sold, she was going to move Oregon, where she has friends.
I could see the dynamic I've seen all too often, including in my own family - both were dealing with loss, both were stressed and both got on each others' nerves.
"Would you like anything to drink?" Tory asked as I started to look through the stack of books Tom deposited on the living room floor. "Water, coffee, tea?"
"Actually, tea would be really nice," I said, and gave the short version of my usual schpiel about the Russian tea culture.
"Oh, my mom loved tea!" Tory said. "We used have tea parties."
And she talked about how Judith would put together tea parties on Sunday afternoons for her and the other kids, and how it made her feel fancy, and I felt a pang of regret for the opportunities missed. I would've happy to drink tea with Judith, but I never got that chance.
Tory kept taking, mentioning her Judith once brought Russian gingerbread cookies I shared with the group two winters ago, and how they were good, when suddenly, it was as if something skipped track.
"I'm sorry!" Tory cried out. "It's just so hard to have you all here."
"It's okay," I searched for the right words, and figured just speaking from the heart may be the best approach. "I get it. If you need us to leave..."
"No, no, it's not like that! I am grateful for you being here."
Next thing I knew, Tory offered me Judith's box of teas. And some of her tea leaves,and one of those tea-brewing ball-like net things, and a tea cup with a saucer. She jammed them all in the bag and shoved it in my arms with palatable desperation, and I think I knew exactly what she was feeling. Every bit of that reminded her of her mom, and the dinners, and she couldn't bear to throw it away, but she couldn't bear to look at it, either.
Elaine and I picked up bags worth of books, though not quite as many as Tom wanted. He seemed almost offended that I didn't take certain volumes that said were classics of American literature. I didn't take any of that personally.
It was hard to watch Tom and Tory struggle. Harder still knowing that there wasn't a whole lot we could do.
Then again...
Arystine came about an hour after Elaine and I did, because she had to finish work. As she and Tory talked, the subject of Arystine's son came up. And Arystine said the same thing she's been telling us for over a month - that she was okay, that she was doing fine.
At the past meetings, I figured it was better not to press, but Tory had no such reservations.
"It hurts, doesn't it?"
"It does," Arystine didn't miss a beat. "I'm still crying. But it's okay. It's going to be okay."
As we headed out the door with bags of books, I heard music coming from the small apartment building next to the house. At first, I assumed it was a party - the weather was still warm, and outdoor family/neighbor get-togethers wouldn't be unusual this time of year. But when I got a closer look, I realized that it was something else. Someone put up paper posters along with the building fence, and... I don't remember the name written on the posters, but I definitely remember "RIP" and printed-out photos of a young man.
A little over an hour after we arrived, we said our goodbyes, and Elaine and I started loading the books into Elaine's car. Tory stepped out and went to talk to the mourners.
One of the women said something to Tory. I couldn't make out the words, but I could see it in her body language - who is this white lady and what is she doing interrupting us?
"No, you don't understand - I'm your neighbor," Tory gestured at the house. "I... I just recently lost my mother." Then, in a voice filled with compassion and empathy, she asked "Who did you lose?"
I didn't hear other parts of the conversation. I was busy loading the books in the car, then getting into the car.
But I know that, as Elaine and I drove away, I saw the Black woman lead Tory to the poster, where she could leave a message of condolence.
The past two years haven't been kind to Write About it. Our founder, Arystine, lost her mother and, more recently, back in August, her son. Another member, Ron, lost his wife. I lost my grandmother. And, on January 30, 2021, we lost one of our own.
Judith wasn't one of the original members, but she has been a member more than long enough to be safely considered part of our core group. She was in her 80s, and white. I assumed that she was one of the older residents who simply never left during the White Flight, but it turned out that she and her husband moved to Austin from Logan Square relatively recently, in the early 2000s. And they moved to one of majority-Black parts of Austin.
Judith was working on revising a romance novel she abandoned 20 years earlier. She eventually finished it up, and started working on another piece, a murder mystery. Both pieces offered some interesting insight into her personal history, and the parts of American society I never really experienced before. The romance novel was based on her experience growing up in a paper mill town in Maine, and the murder mystery was based on her experience living in pre-gentrification Logan Square back in the 1990s. She never made any secret of the fact that she simply didn't get the science fiction I brought to the group, but she said she appreciated the quality of my writing, and character development.
Like me, Judith survived cancer - though her cancer was worse than mine, and, unfortunately, it didn't stay in remission. We've talked sometimes about the toll chemo takes on the body, just how tired it can leave you.
When the pandemic happened, she was the Write About It member I worried about the most. I could appreciate, more than any other members of the group could, how chemo can weaken the immune system. I was relieved when I got e-mailed from her, and, when we started to meet on Zoom, I was relieved every time I saw her tune in.
It wasn't COVID-19 that killed her, or even cancer. It was a heart attack. By the time one of her daughters found her on the floor, it may well have been too late.
Judith's family held a wake, of sorts, on February 6. Her husband, Tom, invited the long-time members, because the group was important to her and she would've wanted us there. We, of course, readily accepted the invitation.
It took place in a restaurant in West Town. The experience was a bit surreal, because it was a first time I was at a gathering like this since the start of the pandemic, and the first time the group met together IRL. With vaccines only available to a small subset of the population, guests basically took turns coming and going, just to make sure the event never exceeded capacity limits. The group got its own table, and I sat next to Elaine, the only other group member to survive a bout with COVID-19. We agreed that it made sense to put together the people who definitely couldn't infect each other.
I met Tom for the first time, and some of the relatives I only heard about from Judith's stories. We talked to a few other relatives and signed the guestbook. Arystine gave a speech on the behalf of the entire group, sharing memories and offering condolences. I wish I could've stuck around longer than I did, but my mom wanted me to visit Grandma Nina to check on some heating issues at her apartment, which I suppose was necessary... But I still wish there was a way I could've stayed longer, talked to more people, said more.
What I remember most about that wake was one of Judith's other daughters reading an essay she wrote shortly after her mom's cancer returned. She talked about how they didn't always get along, and how they rebuilt their relationship, and how grateful she was for her mom's patience and support, and how it was so infuriatingly unfair that she could lose her mom now, after all of that.
Flash-forward to September. The core group got an e-mail from Elaine, explaining that Tom intended to sell the house and basically spend the rest of his life traveling with few possessions. Before he had the big estate sale, he wanted us Write About It members to have the first pick of Judith's books. Three of us ended up coming over on Oct. 1 - me, Elaine and Arystine.
Elaine offered to pick me up at the Central/Lake Green Line 'L' station and drive me to Judith's house. It was close enough to the station that I could have easily walked over there, but I figured... I don't know. I guess I figured it would be polite.
Before this, I only saw Judith's house from the distance, when Elaine dropped her off. This time, I got to not only get a better look at it, but actually got to see inside. If it weren't for the heart-wrenching circumstances, it would've been kind of neat. It was one of those old-school, fancy Austin homes, a green two-story thing with a decent-sized front yard (by Chicago standards) and a porch.
Tom didn't open right away, but once we got inside, the interior was just as interesting, well-decorated, filled with all kinds of interesting maps, old-school posters, furnishings and souvenirs. I really wish I had a chance to walk around and asked about some of the things, but given the circumstances...
When I saw Tom back in February, he looked and sounded dazed. I imagine he was still trying to process Judith's death. Now, he was agitated and tense like a guitar string ready to snap. Sometimes, he all but demanded that we take some books, only to quickly backtrack and say that it was up to us, but it would be really good for us to take those books. Tory, the daughter who lived with the Judith and Tory and the one who found her, wasn't doing that much better.
I don't know if it was stress and grief, or just her usual personality (I suspect it was a bit of both), but I quickly discovered that Tory held nothing back and had no filter whatsoever. She outright told me and Elaine that it was really hard dealing with her dad, and how she was only sticking around to keep an eye on him and how, as soon as the house is sold, she was going to move Oregon, where she has friends.
I could see the dynamic I've seen all too often, including in my own family - both were dealing with loss, both were stressed and both got on each others' nerves.
"Would you like anything to drink?" Tory asked as I started to look through the stack of books Tom deposited on the living room floor. "Water, coffee, tea?"
"Actually, tea would be really nice," I said, and gave the short version of my usual schpiel about the Russian tea culture.
"Oh, my mom loved tea!" Tory said. "We used have tea parties."
And she talked about how Judith would put together tea parties on Sunday afternoons for her and the other kids, and how it made her feel fancy, and I felt a pang of regret for the opportunities missed. I would've happy to drink tea with Judith, but I never got that chance.
Tory kept taking, mentioning her Judith once brought Russian gingerbread cookies I shared with the group two winters ago, and how they were good, when suddenly, it was as if something skipped track.
"I'm sorry!" Tory cried out. "It's just so hard to have you all here."
"It's okay," I searched for the right words, and figured just speaking from the heart may be the best approach. "I get it. If you need us to leave..."
"No, no, it's not like that! I am grateful for you being here."
Next thing I knew, Tory offered me Judith's box of teas. And some of her tea leaves,and one of those tea-brewing ball-like net things, and a tea cup with a saucer. She jammed them all in the bag and shoved it in my arms with palatable desperation, and I think I knew exactly what she was feeling. Every bit of that reminded her of her mom, and the dinners, and she couldn't bear to throw it away, but she couldn't bear to look at it, either.
Elaine and I picked up bags worth of books, though not quite as many as Tom wanted. He seemed almost offended that I didn't take certain volumes that said were classics of American literature. I didn't take any of that personally.
It was hard to watch Tom and Tory struggle. Harder still knowing that there wasn't a whole lot we could do.
Then again...
Arystine came about an hour after Elaine and I did, because she had to finish work. As she and Tory talked, the subject of Arystine's son came up. And Arystine said the same thing she's been telling us for over a month - that she was okay, that she was doing fine.
At the past meetings, I figured it was better not to press, but Tory had no such reservations.
"It hurts, doesn't it?"
"It does," Arystine didn't miss a beat. "I'm still crying. But it's okay. It's going to be okay."
As we headed out the door with bags of books, I heard music coming from the small apartment building next to the house. At first, I assumed it was a party - the weather was still warm, and outdoor family/neighbor get-togethers wouldn't be unusual this time of year. But when I got a closer look, I realized that it was something else. Someone put up paper posters along with the building fence, and... I don't remember the name written on the posters, but I definitely remember "RIP" and printed-out photos of a young man.
A little over an hour after we arrived, we said our goodbyes, and Elaine and I started loading the books into Elaine's car. Tory stepped out and went to talk to the mourners.
One of the women said something to Tory. I couldn't make out the words, but I could see it in her body language - who is this white lady and what is she doing interrupting us?
"No, you don't understand - I'm your neighbor," Tory gestured at the house. "I... I just recently lost my mother." Then, in a voice filled with compassion and empathy, she asked "Who did you lose?"
I didn't hear other parts of the conversation. I was busy loading the books in the car, then getting into the car.
But I know that, as Elaine and I drove away, I saw the Black woman lead Tory to the poster, where she could leave a message of condolence.