The Observer’s Guide to Grief: Formulas
“To calculate the speed
Of any moving object,
Simply divide the distance travelled
By the length of time elapsed.
This handy formula
Is effective for cars and planes and bicycles
But cannot accurately discern
Whether your recovery from grief
Is moving way too fast
Or way too slow.
The tempo of its half-remembered song
Can never be predicted.
That’s just the way it goes.
Voltage equals Current times Resistance
And you will often find resistance
Far more current
Than you think it’s time to be.
Sometimes the electricity this produces
Will give you the power to move;
But it is alternating current
And the charge is often negative.
Energy is Matter
Time’s the Speed of Light, that’s squared
And the loss you have experienced,
Is Relative Despair
Some days, even this far on
It will be more than you can bear;
Some days it will evaporate
In the lightly salted air
And you’ll smile at a memory
Even though it’s still not fair.
This is the geometry of grief
And the calculus of pain:
The volume of bereavement
Is the density of shame
That sometimes you’re almost -
dare you say it? Glad -
Times the Fear
That you’re to blame.
Non-linear progression
Moving backwards through the past
I’m sure it will get better -
But I cannot say how fast.”
Excerpts from “The Observer’s Guide to Grief” by Matt Saunders
Five years ago today, my mum died. Since then, I’ve been writing occasional poems under the banner “The Observer’s Guide to Grief”, to try to cope with the fact of my loss and the sense of…detachment… I’ve felt about it sometimes. It’s felt a bit like it’s happening to someone else. And by compartmentalising my feelings like that, I’ve been able to cope.
No, who am I kidding, that’s a lie — I’m not coping at all, and I never have. My relationship with her was complicated. She was not a good mother. As a child, she hurt me in ways that echo through my life now, forty years later, and have affected my relationships as an adult. It’s my responsibility to move on from that, to heal, and I’ve done a lot of work and therapy, and I have a lot still to do; but it makes facing up to the fact that she’s gone, just that much more difficult.
I started writing this poem today because I felt like I “should”, on this anniversary. I don’t feel particularly happy with it as a poem, but that’s not really the point. What is the point — that’s in the last stanza — when I finally stop observing, and allow myself to start feeling.