Writing About Loss

Fair Warning: I'm not very good at it

I’ve always struggled with writing about loss. I never feel like I am able to satisfactorily articulate the enormity of the emotion of losing a loved one. I worry I always get too sentimental and bury the truths of the event under complex sentences full of flowery but essentially empty words. Then again, to keep it too simple seems cold-hearted, almost rude.

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Jill Ocone was my teacher. She took over for English 11 Honors when the regular teacher was pregnant. I loved the class and I loved her. I might have only really loved the class because of her (British literature can be a real slog). She convinced me to try Student Government again after a failed attempt from my freshman year that still stung. I ran and won, and we became incredibly close my senior year.

When I graduated, she shared her personal contact information with me, and we became friends. I became an English teacher. She wanted us to be colleagues; she told me about openings at my alma mater, encouraged me to apply, wrote recommendation letters, and she served as a reference every single time. Her love was a source that could not be exhausted.

We worked together for thirteen years.

She convinced me to go to New York City with her for a creative writing conference sponsored by the University of Limerick … and we all know how that turned out.

We’d meet to talk about our writing, and to work on our writing. She had a way with words and was an accomplished writer. She was a novelist and an absolutely brilliant poet.

She was as passionate as she was compassionate. That might be what made her such an exemplary educator. She wanted the right things done the right way. She cared intensely about everyone — she made time to give her full attention to anyone who wanted it. She loved people. She loved life. She loved exploring how people lived their lives in her job and in her writing. She was a force, a source of sustenance; simply put, she was incredible.

She was one of the good ones, and I don’t know how to do any of this without her.