"We Are Created by Being Destroyed"

"Excuse me, do you know what time it is?" by Damiel

I was coming home one night last month from a church potluck when I heard an interview with the poet Franz Wright on the radio program Open Source. He was reading a poem called "Letter, January 1998," from his book Walking to Martha's Vineyard, which ended with the line, "We are created by being destroyed."

Church potlucks are about getting to know people better. In a situation like that, it's impossible not to have to explain the circumstances of Wendy's illness and death. It doesn't bother me to tell the story since now, in those circumstances, it's merely a string of facts. The irreducible pain doesn't come from those facts, but from her constant absence.

People ask, "So, what do you do." That's usually how it comes out. I am eager now for people who are getting to know me to know what's happened. This is who I am now. The answer to their question is, "I survive."