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stephanie domet, writer at large author, journalist, damn good cook. about contact me out and about the common waving, not drowning posted: may 21, 2018 | author: stephaniedomet | filed under: tunes you can use | tags: chris domet , death , grief , loss , lynn miles , music , ocean , peggys cove , stephanie domet | 6 comments today i took my broken heart to the edge of the sea and i reminded it that every breath that’s ever been heaved in this world is still here to be breathed anew. that everyone who ever stood on this earth and did the simple miraculous work of inhaling and exhaling is connected to every other person who ever has. that you are connected to me in this way, and i to another, that our breath reaches back through time to those we’ve loved and lost. there is a constancy there that soothes me, the way the ocean smooths out the rocks at peggy’s cove. the waves there are relentless, the ocean’s hand ashore to ease the furrowed brow of rock. the cure for anything, it’s said, is salt water: tears, sweat, or the sea. i tried all three today but remain uncured, for what can really cure grief? time blunts it, maybe, though not for long. grief is a rogue wave. at peggy’s rogue waves are just a fact, like grief is a fact, like every breath that’s ever been taken in and let go is still in the world is a fact. finally after eighteen years i’ve learned that what i know about this day can barely cover the head of a pin. i recognize this territory, sure, its rough outline, but it is a seaside in spring changed entirely by winter storms, its road ripped up, its sand carried by the wind and waves a hundred metres away and strewn upon the grass, a beach out of time and out of place. rocks revealed and covered, revealed and covered. i know enough to know what recent losses for friends will mean. i know the way grief changes families, its thumbs hard on your clay. the way it makes a thicket grow over your path overnight so you can no longer go that way and must find a different way instead. it brings silence to the party it crashes, and regret, sometimes guilt, and recrimination. it is the worst kind of guest, rude and uncaring. a house guest that just won’t take the hint. it belches at the table, and leaves all the towels damp and wadded up in corners where they moulder, unnoticed till it’s too late. that i know, but knowing only makes it sadder, my own grief compounding theirs, or theirs compounding mine. i have arrived at a place of activism. death is still so awkward and impolite. losses are invisible, unless perhaps you’ve also lost. and then there is a choice. pretend you can’t see, or develop x-ray vision. i’m choosing the latter. i’m trying for a kind of generosity in grief. i know this beach well, i can say. it changes every day, it seems, like the shoreline and the sea, as the poet says, but i know its basic geography, and where the break in the thicket is. i know your clay will firm again and those thumbs won’t press you so. the sand will return to the beach. those rocks that have been revealed will always be there, but you’ll learn where they are and you won’t stub your toe on them as often. and for myself, i’m left with what i’m always left with. the pursuit of more, the understanding that none of it is assured. i don’t arrange my life around what i think one of my dear departed would want. i won’t use that as a crutch to do or not do what’s in front of me. i will, however, take to heart the annual lesson to live while i am alive. my brother would have turned fifty last week. when we were twenty and twenty-two i gave him a birthday card that said, on the front: no matter how old you get… and then inside, the punch line: you’ll always be older than me . i can’t stop thinking about that card now. i’m forty-seven this year, and feeling my age in a way i never have. chris remains thirty-two, with so much undone. i went out to hear some music last week, and one of the singers, lynn miles, sang this song. it made me think of chris, who wanted more of everything, and of myself, and the opportunities i sometimes let slip by. let me be a wild ocean, constant and seeking. let me spill over the rocks of my life, salty and alive. let me always reach. let there be more. advertisements pour one out for mortality posted: october 22, 2017 | author: stephaniedomet | filed under: book news and views | leave a comment you might have predicted you’d see me round here this week, given the news. between #metoo, and the conversations that have ensued all over your social feeds and mine, and then the expected-but-still-so-sad death of gord downie, it’s been—well, it’s been a time. one might hope to be more articulate than that about it, but here we are. i ground my teeth so hard part of one snapped off. what more is there to say than that? a few weeks ago, i was sitting around on a friday night with kev and his brother and his brother’s girlfriend, and we were having some drinks and light conversation about people we know who have serious, even terminal illnesses. “he’s going to die young,” my sister-in-law said about a guy we all know. “she could die anytime,” kev said about a good friend of his. i could feel my fingers twitching. when i have deep thoughts about death, i tend to save them up for my friend maggie, who knows what time it is in that respect. we have regular grief summits, during which we talk about our sad feelings, raise a glass to our dear departed, and eat a lot of candy. i really wanted to text maggie, but decided it would be rude to start texting in the middle of our little gathering. so instead, i dropped a truth bomb. “i just want to put in a word for mortality, here,” i said. a moment of understanding flickered across kev’s face—he knows who he’s married to, after all—but i pushed on regardless. “we’re all gonna die, and none of us know when. it could happen right now. or tomorrow. or the next day. you’re gonna die,” i said to my sister-in-law, “and you’re gonna die,” i looked at kev, “and you’re gonna die,” i nodded to my brother-in-law, “and i’m gonna die. it’s coming for all of us.” there was, as you might expect, a beat of silence. i took a sip of my drink. i definitely should have saved that one for maggie, i thought. and then, as if i had indeed saved it for maggie, the conversation rolled on. and hey, i get it. most people are not interested in contemplating the reality of our time here—that it is likely short, and certainly uncertain. that all we have is this moment, it’s gone, this moment, it’s gone, this moment, it’s gone too. this is not friday-night-drinks conversation. unless you’re me and maggie, that is. i’ve written before about my feelings around gord downie’s public performance of what a graceful exit looks like . the grief has rolled slowly this week. i’ve listened to night for day in its entirety most days. i had a deep cry over that peter mansbridge interview from last year, which i’d found myself unable to watch when it first aired, and barely able to watch two days ago when i finally did. i’ve been simple in my grief. i’m not thinking about it much. just letting it wash over me. letting those songs wake me up in the middle of the night, playing on my brain radio so loud they disturb my sleep. yeah, i’m sad about the loss of an artist i admired, one i grew up with, one whose songs and performances have meant so much to me since i was a teenager (ask me sometime about the time i saw the hip at molson park, and gord set his boots on fire at the foot of the stage during “boots and hearts,” what a time.), and i’m sad about my brother, with whom i saw the hip so many times, and i’m sad about my dad, who was the kind of guy i think gord was. i’m sad about my sadness. i’m sad it all ends, no matter what, it all ends the same way. i’m sitting with and in that, lately, and you know what, it’s okay. it’s okay because it’s true, and because even though i can only look at it head on for a few minutes at a time every day, that lookin

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https://stephaniedomet.com/tag/death/
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Whois Information

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Domain Name: STEPHANIEDOMET.COM
Registry Domain ID: 1550278552_DOMAIN_COM-VRSN
Registrar WHOIS Server: whois.wildwestdomains.com
Registrar URL: http://www.wildwestdomains.com
Updated Date: 2018-02-26T10:12:49Z
Creation Date: 2009-03-29T22:44:24Z
Registry Expiry Date: 2019-03-29T22:44:24Z
Registrar: Wild West Domains, LLC
Registrar IANA ID: 440
Registrar Abuse Contact Email: [email protected]
Registrar Abuse Contact Phone: 480-624-2505
Domain Status: clientDeleteProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientDeleteProhibited
Domain Status: clientRenewProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientRenewProhibited
Domain Status: clientTransferProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientTransferProhibited
Domain Status: clientUpdateProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientUpdateProhibited
Name Server: NS1.WORDPRESS.COM
Name Server: NS2.WORDPRESS.COM
DNSSEC: unsigned
URL of the ICANN Whois Inaccuracy Complaint Form: https://www.icann.org/wicf/
>>> Last update of whois database: 2018-08-07T04:31:07Z <<<

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  REGISTRAR Wild West Domains, LLC

SERVERS

  SERVER com.whois-servers.net

  ARGS domain =stephaniedomet.com

  PORT 43

  TYPE domain

DOMAIN

  NAME stephaniedomet.com

  CHANGED 2018-02-26

  CREATED 2009-03-29

STATUS
clientDeleteProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientDeleteProhibited
clientRenewProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientRenewProhibited
clientTransferProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientTransferProhibited
clientUpdateProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientUpdateProhibited

NSERVER

  NS1.WORDPRESS.COM 198.181.116.9

  NS2.WORDPRESS.COM 198.181.117.9

  REGISTERED yes

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