Hamnet

It’ll be 11 years on the 21st. The first time I witnessed pain became sound. A sound I will never forget, a sound I never wish to hear from a person ever again. A guttural escape of waves that transcended flesh and bone and reached the tallest beams my eyes could land on.  She was a twin. Two girls. I think about how her Mom sees her daughter’s face existing alongside her daughter that is no longer here. Something wonderful while also being a constant reminder that there should still be two.  I heard that sound again during this movie and I found my eyes wandering to the top of the ceiling in my theater, the sound breaking barriers but my eyes and heart unable to look the sound maker; the pain escaping, in the eye. I was brought back to 11 years ago and my feet felt firmly planted in the church as I heard my childhood best friend’s mom grieve out loud for her child.  Grief is loud, grief is quiet, a visceral thing that can be so transformative. Complex and vast. But the suffering that comes from losing a child, that’s insurmountable.  She should still be here. She was so much more worthy of life than me.  I got to remember my friend and her family tonight, not that I would or could ever forget them, but memories flashed that I couldn’t push down or contain for the reminder of the evening. The sounds of grief from a Mother, the memories of a decade of the best friendship I’ve ever known.  Take your broken heart, turn into art, the movie.