After my baby Rachel died in the late summer of 2002, I was mentally, if not physically, close to catatonic for months. Somehow, with my husband's help, I was able to carve out enough strength to maintain a sense of calm and normalcy for my son. But on the inside, I was slowly dying.
I really don't remember much about that year. I remember Eric Andersen calling me one day to ask if I would write a revised bio for him. I had not spoken to Eric for quite a while--since shortly after Rick died--and he had no idea what had happened. When I told him, he was extremely sweet and sympathetic and encouraged me to talk about her. He asked me her name, and said it was a beatiful name. That was so important to me--just the fact that someone asked her name; she wasn't just "the baby."
After a long talk, I ended up crying and Eric said there was a way to heal. "Write your way out of it," he said. And I never forgot his words. "When you get really sad, just write. Write and it will help you."
I thought it had been at least a year after Rachel's death that Eric had called me. But today I found this book on my shelf, as I was looking for some books to lend to a friend who is very interested in The Beats. I remembered that Eric had written a piece in this book, The Rolling Stone Book of The Beats, and I opened the book to search the table of contents. And I found Eric's sweet salutation--dated October, 2002. Eric is not the touchy-feely warm and fuzzy type, but he's sensitive. "Sweet" for Eric is not mushy; it's just kind. Had a friend not asked for these Beat books, I may not have seen this signature ever again.
Until I saw this book today, I'd totally forgotten that he'd sent it to me after we talked. He knew I loved the Beat poets, and he'd encouraged me to go back and read them. Eric and I always had that Beat connection--he's the only person I knew personally who really understood and was touched by their raw passion the same way I was.
He sent this to me and, since I wasn't ready at the time, I apparently just put it on the shelf. I'm so glad I found it--and I can't wait to finally read it.
I really don't remember much about that year. I remember Eric Andersen calling me one day to ask if I would write a revised bio for him. I had not spoken to Eric for quite a while--since shortly after Rick died--and he had no idea what had happened. When I told him, he was extremely sweet and sympathetic and encouraged me to talk about her. He asked me her name, and said it was a beatiful name. That was so important to me--just the fact that someone asked her name; she wasn't just "the baby."
After a long talk, I ended up crying and Eric said there was a way to heal. "Write your way out of it," he said. And I never forgot his words. "When you get really sad, just write. Write and it will help you."
I thought it had been at least a year after Rachel's death that Eric had called me. But today I found this book on my shelf, as I was looking for some books to lend to a friend who is very interested in The Beats. I remembered that Eric had written a piece in this book, The Rolling Stone Book of The Beats, and I opened the book to search the table of contents. And I found Eric's sweet salutation--dated October, 2002. Eric is not the touchy-feely warm and fuzzy type, but he's sensitive. "Sweet" for Eric is not mushy; it's just kind. Had a friend not asked for these Beat books, I may not have seen this signature ever again.
Until I saw this book today, I'd totally forgotten that he'd sent it to me after we talked. He knew I loved the Beat poets, and he'd encouraged me to go back and read them. Eric and I always had that Beat connection--he's the only person I knew personally who really understood and was touched by their raw passion the same way I was.
He sent this to me and, since I wasn't ready at the time, I apparently just put it on the shelf. I'm so glad I found it--and I can't wait to finally read it.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment