A few days after I learned about my mother’s sudden death, I was back in the United States. After living and working in Myanmar for the past year, the cultural shock of returning to the States was outdone only by the shock of how different the world I returned to had become. Tragedy is transformative, but first we refuse it. For a week I suffered official states of denial, supported by the consuming activities of funeral planning and the drifting fog of jet lag. It wasn’t until I reached Oregon and that familiar light and shade of autumn that my mood floated finally into sorrow, suspended like a weary body in a womb-warm bath. My father and I had set out on a road trip a week after the funeral because he needed distance from the home he’d shared with my mother . . .
You can read the entire essay on the Oregon Quarterly website.
Airports . Ballard . Bangkok . Brasov . Cal Anderson Park . California . Canada . Chicago . Columbia City . Columbia River . Crete . Eastern Washington . Ethiopia . Germany . Greece . Green Lake . Hawaii . Home . Laos . Los Angeles . Maui . Myanmar . Nevada . Romania . Seattle . Seward Park . Texas . Thailand . Transylvania . Vashon Island . Washington . Wyoming .