My mother’s last remaining sibling is dying, and quickly, it now seems. I received the call last night from my mom and exchanged emails this morning with my cousin but didn’t really have time to think about it until the subway ride in from Brooklyn to Grand Central this morning. She is walking, still, and planning a trip to the San Diego beach in June (it keeps Eros alive, my uncle once told me with a wink, and in a case of too-much-information to share with a niece) but one eye won’t quite open and her speech isn’t coming out correctly and the body of my aunt Stana seems to be collapsing, her skin folding over itself, in response to the cancer. …

Read more of Masha Hamilton’s dispatch from a Brooklyn subway car—grief, worry, and “the comfort of fingers entwined.”
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My mother’s last remaining sibling is dying, and quickly, it now seems. I received the call last night from my mom and exchanged emails this morning with my cousin but didn’t really have time to think about it until the subway ride in from Brooklyn to Grand Central this morning. She is walking, still, and planning a trip to the San Diego beach in June (it keeps Eros alive, my uncle once told me with a wink, and in a case of too-much-information to share with a niece) but one eye won’t quite open and her speech isn’t coming out correctly and the body of my aunt Stana seems to be collapsing, her skin folding over itself, in response to the cancer. …

Read more of Masha Hamilton’s dispatch from a Brooklyn subway car—grief, worry, and “the comfort of fingers entwined.

   

Tags: #Brooklyn #New York #New York City #MTA #dispatches #Masha Hamilton


 

…There’s an aspect of the missing flight that is indubitable: the pain of the victims’ families. “It’s already been so many days,” said one family member of a passenger, quoted on BBC News, “and no clues. They’re always searching, always searching. Can such a big plane not be found?” What’s real and obscured in some of the excitement over this blockbuster-like plot is that 239 people have dropped out of the lives of their families, relationships, workplaces, art studios, houses, and communities. 239 people have just been erased. They’ve been lost in time, frozen in the last moment that their familiars saw them. Like the victims of the Oslo, Washington, landslide on March 22 this year, they are suspended in the air, or in rubble, or in the ocean, and the emotional processing of those who knew them is suspended in midair too. …

Melody Nixon on Flight MH370 and on the emotional landscape of the missing—the lack of closure that comes from being “suspended, in emotional midair.”
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…There’s an aspect of the missing flight that is indubitable: the pain of the victims’ families. “It’s already been so many days,” said one family member of a passenger, quoted on BBC News, “and no clues. They’re always searching, always searching. Can such a big plane not be found?” What’s real and obscured in some of the excitement over this blockbuster-like plot is that 239 people have dropped out of the lives of their families, relationships, workplaces, art studios, houses, and communities. 239 people have just been erased. They’ve been lost in time, frozen in the last moment that their familiars saw them. Like the victims of the Oslo, Washington, landslide on March 22 this year, they are suspended in the air, or in rubble, or in the ocean, and the emotional processing of those who knew them is suspended in midair too. …

Melody Nixon on Flight MH370 and on the emotional landscape of the missing—the lack of closure that comes from being “suspended, in emotional midair.”

   

Tags: #flight mh370 #flight 370 #malaysian airlines #kuala lumpur #melody nixon #in house


 

Sweet joy, sweet joy, I hum against the kitten cry of my newborn daughter, three days old, who directs her distress at my dry nipple. Home today from the hospital and no milk yet in my breasts. Since the doctors cut her out of me, she has been living on fat reserves and a few drops of the sticky, yellow colostrum I squeeze from my body into her rooting mouth. Baby wolf trying to howl, no sound coming out. Baby polar bear burrowing into white, substance-less snow.
Half of all young will starve by spring, the narrator intones.

Read more of Amy Monticello’s dispatch from Eau Claire, Wisconsin and the harsh wilderness of new motherhood. “Sometimes parents don’t have the luxury of patience.”
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Sweet joy, sweet joy, I hum against the kitten cry of my newborn daughter, three days old, who directs her distress at my dry nipple. Home today from the hospital and no milk yet in my breasts. Since the doctors cut her out of me, she has been living on fat reserves and a few drops of the sticky, yellow colostrum I squeeze from my body into her rooting mouth. Baby wolf trying to howl, no sound coming out. Baby polar bear burrowing into white, substance-less snow.

Half of all young will starve by spring, the narrator intones.

Read more of Amy Monticello’s dispatch from Eau Claire, Wisconsin and the harsh wilderness of new motherhood. “Sometimes parents don’t have the luxury of patience.”

   

Tags: #William Blake #Polar Vortex #Wisconsin #Eau Claire #motherhood #dispatches #Amy Monticello #breastfeeding