Ted Hughes’s anguish at the suicide of Sylvia Plath

By admin on October 11, 2010

Ted Hughes wrote about his wife’s last night in a previously unpublished poem. The poem is a reminder of the tragic effect a suicide has on others, how we’re left fragmented and struggling.

Sylvia Plath was found dead around midday on Monday 11 February 1963, the poem was written in the aftermath, decades ago. I look forward to the publication of Ted Hughes poem, even though it is being described as ‘uncooked’, a shared experience is a consolation of sorts.

It’s called Last Letter and it opens ”What happened that night? Your final night”. I can’t think how often I have asked the same, there’s no reconciling with the last moments of someone who dies by suicide.

It brings on wretchedness to think on those last moments and it’s impossible not to dwell on them. I know the torment induced by trying to comprehend what is mostly incomprehensible. The decision and the execution.

I have wailed that Mottsu took away my beautiful life as well as his own, an agony without consolation. I am trying to understand. I do know it was worse for him than me and I still grieve and regret.

Posted in , Tagged , , Leave a Comment

Love well and grieve hard

By admin on September 28, 2010

I found myself missing Wally, the Border Terrier, this morning.

A string of somewhat coherent thoughts cruised through my head and left me picturing Wally. I remembered him sitting by the car one day and shaking, his whole body trembling and his little face set with misery. I closed my eyes remembering dear Wally and the way he trembled in the world, and I sighed loudly releasing air. Longing…

I (still) grieve hard for Mottsu and today I am thinking of his (our) little dog, Wally. ‘There’s only one little Wally” we used to sing to the tune of Guantunamerra, “…one little Waaa-lllll-eeee, there’s only one little Waaa-lly.”

Wally was our dog, he was Mottsu’s dog, a one dog fan club. Let me tell the story behind the memory of him sitting by the car shaking.

The day we moved in to the big country house, Mottsu’s dream house the place from which he was going to build a new career and enjoy a tree-changed life, was a day happy on the surface and dark and swirling beneath that.

There was too much invested the house, too much money, too many hopes for a different life, Mottsu was grapsing at a future beyond depression. Maybe he had already lost his centre, I don’t know, I think he was battling the high seas of depression and was helpless to make headway.

The morning of the move, we packed up one house and waited for the movers with their truck. I stuffed the car with loose bits and items, the pieces not secured in boxes. Mottsu drove off, our precious flotsam pushed up against the car windows, he went to get the key, drop off the bits, and was to be back before the movers had loaded their truck.

Mottsu left.
The movers arrived.
The movers loaded up the truck.
No word from Mottsu.

I was overcome with a seemingly irrational fear. A full body wave of terror swept over me and drew everything out, I perched on the toilet seat seasick green, clinging to notion that I was being absurd, and at the same time ill with fear. This was three weeks before he left without coming home again. That sunny Saturday morning, my body sensed before my mind had formed the thought, that Mottsu might not come home again.

Mottsu drove up.

Relief broke out and I laughed, Wally wagged and we all piled into the car and followed the movers to our new house.

We spent the day unpacking, sorting and putting things into place.
Amid the boxes and mess I didn’t see Wally for most of the afternoon, I found him outside sitting close to the car and shaking.

Wally just wanted to go where we went, he wasn’t going to be left behind. The mood of the move was distressing, a big exciting move to be celebrated with an unnamed darkness underscoring it all. Our new home was supposed to be a safe place, with paddocks and views and dreams filling every room. Somewhere below the visible reality things didn’t feel so welcoming.

Wally picked it all up, sensed the shadows and trembled, he wanted to go home, to our regular city home, I did too.

I miss Wally and his big little dog heart, his love and his fear. I love and love, I grieve. Still and on and on. The price for loving well is grieving hard.

That’s just how it is, love well, grieve hard, long and hard – and on and on…

Posted in , Tagged , , Leave a Comment

Of course I cringe at a ‘tsk’er, I am one

By admin on September 13, 2010

Tsk is the annoyed clicking one’s tongue against the roof of one’s mouth.

The exasperation of a tsk as it escapes almost involuntarily from the tsker and is acutely felt by the tsked target (the tskee). Shot like an arrow, tsk scores a bullseye.

Tskees hear – out of my way – step aside – move on – not now – not again – get over it – here we go again – give me strength – not now – you would – still?

I know the experience of tsk from the perspective of both tsker and tskee.


Tsk disapproval
Tsk annoyance
Tsk exasperation
Tsk frustration

Tsk impotence, not knowing what else to do – no way to change the other (the tskee in this instance)

I tsk with the best of them. I tsked Mottsu, firguratively at least, he would have felt an accute tsk on occasions. Living with someone who is deeply depressed is incredibly draining. I wanted to help, I couldn’t, and I kept trying with, what was probably, a relentless Pollyanna cheer. He was seeking support from professionals, I wanted to believe he was well supported. I’m not so sure he was and at the time I didn’t know what else to do, how else to help.

I tried to indulge him, spoil him and cocoon him from the world. It all washed over him, impervious, nothing touched his dulled heart. It’s tough living with someone who is severely depressed, I’ve already said that and need to repeat the sentiment. My point is that caring about someone with depression is a difficult experience. It’s worthwhile, it is absolutely the only choice to make, the experience is also immeasurably more difficult for the person with depression than the bystander, and the effort required is relentless for both.

On his last day Mottsu was distressed, I have written about that before. I was concerned and I had opted to stay home from work to be close to him. He said he had an appointment with his psychologist,he said, and drove away.

The moment he drove away stony faced and tear stained was the moment I could have tsked with exasperation. What I did do was skip. March 15th was a sunny day, the sky was blue it lifted my heart. Mottsu was getting support, I was going to get my legs waxed. I figured I had two clear hours I skipped, foolishly happy.

I didn’t see Mottsu again, I don’t need to be tsk‘ed by anyone I tsk myself every day.

Posted in Tagged Leave a Comment

What does it matter whether they believe you or not

By admin on September 7, 2010

“If I’d been able to kill myself and afterward see their faces, then yes, it would have been worth it. People aren’t convinced of your sincerity, your motives, and the depth of your sorrows except by your death. As you long as you are alive, your case is uncertain, and you are entitled only to their skepticism. So if one were sure to enjoy the spectacle, it would be worth it to prove to them what they don’t wish to believe, and to astonish them.

But you kill yourself and what does it matter whether they believe you or not: you aren’t there to drink in their amazement and their contrition (so fleeting, moreover), to attend, as every man dreams, your own funeral.”

Albert Camus, The Fall (1956)

Posted in Tagged , Leave a Comment

To thank or not thank

By admin on April 28, 2010

Eight months after Mottsu died, as Christmas approached I had some cards made. On the front was a photo taken in the 60s, Mottsu on the knee of Father Christmas. As a labour of love or an act of contrition I mailed out 150 little cards with a personal note written in each.

Inside was a quote by Virginia Woolf:

“Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by heart and his friends can only read the title”

That quote was especially poignant to me in the light of suicide, it helped reassure me about my not understanding of what happened.

Bud Tingwell in the opening chapter of his biography, written by Peter Wilmoth, hoped that he would be forgiven for not acknowledging all the kind cards that were sent after the death of his wife. He just wasn’t up to it, at the time. I wonder now if it was the opening chapter, that’s how I remember what he said, a loud and lingering regret.

I was driven by what had haunted Bud and I was determined not to harbour similar regrets. I had enough regrets to live with, not sending thank yous didn’t have to be one of them.

There are two schools of thought, Miss Manners thinks sending notes is the decent thing to do. and one that says Miss Manners is WRONG about thank you notes for condolence cards. It’s up to you.

Posted in Tagged , Leave a Comment

Living each day

By admin on March 19, 2010

However far I have run and however far I have come, some days have more sadness than others.

Loneliness sort of creeps up…

Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery’s shadow or reflection: the fact that you don’t merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief. CS Lewis

That was true before, it is mostly easier now.

Grief and memories and sadness still lurk around.

There in the shadows.

Posted in Tagged , Leave a Comment

I’ll take the force of the blow

By admin on January 21, 2010

Sometimes song fragments hum around in my inner, a refrain singing to the outer.

Browsing around Powell’s, a great bookshop in Portland, a remnant of a song I didn’t really know was whispered by my inner, wanting to be known.

“I’ll stand in front of you and take the force of the blow…”

Book browsing abandoned, I tried music shops singing the only line I could recall of the song sung by artists I didn’t know. The listeners, the CD sellers, struggled to recognise the song. It took some days to track it down, not only due to the quality of my singing, the song was 10 years old.

“I’ll stand in front of you and take the force of the blow…”
I hummed the words about actions I’d failed to fulfill. I hadn’t taken the force of the blow.

Haunted by a partly remembered song line and unsure of what my inner needed the outer to know…

There’s another part of the song I take solace from. This might be what my inner was singing for my outer to know:

“Now I can’t change the way you feel
But I can put my arms around you
That’s just part of the deal
That’s the way I feel
I’ll put my arms around you…”

I couldn’t change the way Mottsu felt, I did put my arms around him.
My outer is still learning, that I can’t take the force of the blow on behalf of someone I love. I wish it were possible.

…but I can put my arms around you. I can sit by you. Hold your hand. Be close by, if you have to suffer the force of a blow, or dark forces unknown.

Posted in , Tagged , , Leave a Comment

My heart loves life

By admin on December 24, 2009

I as write about my past and present, you can see that I am not over it. That’s to say I am not over the loss of Mottsu.

There is so much sadness in the world, too much sadness. I think that’s why I write about my sadness. I love to wear tears and carry love for the possibility of a different world.

There is a Woody Allen film, Melinda and Melinda. The movie explores the dichotomy between comedy and tragedy, two sides to every story. Tragedy confronts and comedy is our escape. I watched Melinda and Melinda on a plane, a flight between somewhere and somewhere. The detail of the flight is gone, but there are a couple of lines I remember.

A man speaking to Melinda says, “What do you want?”
Melinda thinks for a moment before replying “l want to want to live.”
He brushes off her words saying, “Everybody wants to live.”

I want to want to live, the sentiment touches my heart. Many would agree, that everyone wants to live (per se) and I know living is not so simple. Most of the time I live without making a conscious decision to do so. Days dawn, I wake and rise, I live. Wanting to want to live is more than the day-to-day, it’s what I’ve sought. I can now say hand on heart, I do want to live.

Life is beautiful. Behind the sadness, or not withstanding the sadness, I want to live.

Posted in Tagged , , Leave a Comment

Leaving without bitterness

By admin on December 21, 2009

I am reading Age of Iron by J.M. Coetzee – it is the most outstanding book, wonderfully crafted by the author and first published in 1990. I’m reading it because Charlotte gave it to me for Christmas. She gave it figuratively, for reasons mostly explained by geography. She explained I should buy it and write a dedication on her behalf inside the front cover.

The first bookshop didn’t have it on the shelves the second did. I’ll finish it now before Christmas.

I’m completely enamored by the emotion and the careful and careless caring in the story

There is a passage on page 6 (Penguin edition) where ‘she’ (I can’t recall ‘her’ name, she is the protagonist and perhaps without a first name), is planning not to share her diagnosis and bleak prognosis with her faraway daughter.

“The first task laid on me today: to resist the craving to share my death. Loving you, loving life, to forgive the living and take my leave without bitterness. To embrace death as my own, mine alone.”

I read that passage, those words and Mrs Curren (the she of the tale) was forgotten for the moment. The paragraph resonated with personal meaning, yes: it was all about me. The words made me cry, so beautiful, “..to forgive the living…” All this time I have been trying to understand (I mean forgive) Mottsu leaving (actually I think I have been trying to forgive myself), I had never thought he might have forgiven me and left ‘without bitterness’.

It’s quite a thought…

Posted in Tagged , Leave a Comment

Bad feng-shui troubled me

By admin on December 13, 2009

Occasionally oppositional forces whelm up, most often attacking from within rather than an attack from outside sources, more easily defended against.

When Mottsu died so suddenly I did feel some blame, just for having been there and not having fully anticipated his direction. I did regret not having done more, and I also regretted some of the things I did. The blaming is not right or wrong; perhaps it is almost inevitable in the situation. Death by suicide has some far reaching impacts, I did gasp and figuratively stagger – no I literally staggered. In staggering I flailed and reached out into darkness grasping for explanation.

004For a while I was guilt ridden by the bleak book recommendation and the vindictive pillow snatch, and while I am mired in regret, there was also the bathroom towel colour and the spiky plant.

I live in a house in a fabulous location; I have never really liked it. It is not that I don’t like it, it is just a house. Mottsu on the other hand loved this house, from the first minute we inspected it. We’d been looking for months this one he was immediately taken by. I didn’t see the attraction at first, I had to be shown its features, through his eyes. We bid at auction and procured our house.

I engaged a feng-shui consultant. Mottsu thought I was nutty but indulged me. It was an interesting exercise, she used our birth years and the age of the house to determine the directions of various influences and how to support good influences. She might have called them dragons, are there lucky dragons?

The feng-shui consultant determined that the house was perfect for Mottsu, my consolation was that the bed faced a good direction for me. There were some adjustments to be made. I placed a little mirror behind the toilet, added little coins to some rooms and encouraged more harmonious feng-shui. The consultant recommended I change the plant that sat in the light well in front of Mottsu’s desk. It had spiky leaves, bad for the energy which is better in smooth waves and not broken by spikes.

001The violet towels in the bathroom had to be replaced with green. Violet is a metal colour and green a wood colour. The bathroom would have been much more harmonious with green towels. I looked for new towels and couldn’t find a shade of green I thought was attractive. Too fussy.

The spiky plant and the wrong colour towels, I have too often regretted my inattention to fixing those simple-to-change-things.

The pillow, the book, the plant, the colour of the towels, all of those things contributed to his demise, there isn’t a straight linear relationship between cause and effect, little things just add up. Given a chance to keep Mottsu here, they are all things I would change.

Those are some of the elements I grasped for explanation, while seeking meaning for the meaningless. It is not funny how when I thought I was recovering, things could grab my conscience and pull down…

Posted in Tagged , Leave a Comment