coughing.
unwilling to cover my
face, though i’m
breathing in someone.
it somehow seems disrespectful
to cover the
holes through which
i breathe, as the
smoke of the
dead surrounds
me.
i’ve been here.
when you were
breathing.
five years ago.
watching a fire
burn for the
first time,
we covered our
noses, our mouths,
not knowing what
to do.
instead of watching,
we found ourselves
retreating.
then two years
later, just me
here again, still
unable to feel,
yet seated,
unmoving for hours,
for reasons i
didn’t yet understand,
the fires they
burned around me,
and i,
i tried not
to breathe.
and now.
five years later.
i watch the fires,
and the clouds
that rise from them,
and i see the
families tending
to the fires they
themselves set.
i stand here,
today,
watching those fires,
different fires
than those i watched
five and two.
different, because this
time, i
breathe them
in.
and now, seated,
unmoved, i watch
it, from the beginning
to end.
this time on
the royal ghat,
this man,
no commoner.
the crowd huge,
yet there’s no
one around me.
the wood stacked
four high,
covered in
garlands of gold
and orange,
the body on a stretcher
held high above
the pyre, spun
clockwise six, or
was it nine times?
(somehow i lost count).
the body, wrapped in
white, now on top
of the wood,
his socks removed,
thrown into
the river below.
his face now
revealed, bottled
water poured into
the hands of the crowd,
then dripped
upon him.
he wears the hat,
the hat that i wore
five years ago,
when we were
here for that
other reason.
a handful of straw
now lit, a man
circles the body,
lighting.
wood below, now
wood on top,
sticks, logs placed
there by the family
and friends.
pyre now lit,
the crowd
disperses, and the
man, now
completely covered
in straw.
a man, apparently
uncommon in his life,
he is now
no different than
all of the dead;
an object in
need of disposal.
the smoke, it billows
toward me,
as more straw
is added to
the pyre,
a man with
a stick,
the man tending the
fire, uses that
stick to push
the dead man’s foot
back into the flames.
i wonder where
madeline is,
and if she knows.
much time
passes, but how much
i don’t know,
madeline is
awake and now in
my arms,
and we watch,
watch the smoke
and flames,
and now,
ash.
standing now, here,
watching,
still unable to
move.
and now i think
of you, and remember
how we
reacted to this
five years ago,
and i look at
the non-hindus,
the non-buddhists
standing around us,
wearing the same look
we all wore
then,
eyes clenched,
trying not
to breathe,
disturbed not by
the smoke
or the body burning
before them,
but by their
own mortality.
and i remember
that day,
when i had
to make the hardest
decision of
my life,
and even now
i wonder if
i made the right one.
but this.
this is not
a reminder,
for we all know
we will die,
but this,
this place, this,
the death of the
man before me,
and the next body
being prepared
up river,
and all of those
burning down river,
they are an affirmation,
one of the
reasons that we can
carry on…
we
breathe him
in, breathe them in,
and now.
we breathe
you in.
89 Comments
That was mesmerizing Matt. That was an arrow to the heart, right where it belongs.
Matt, incredible and extremely moving. I love the way you write, with such vivid color and emotion. This entry is no different, in fact, it’s one of your best…at least to me. Course, I have zero in the line of professional writers knowledge. lol I mean, I did score an A in Honors English many years ago in college…yes you can bow before me now…I know you’re in awe of my genius.
I think how you describe ‘breathing you in’ is beautiful. You honestly do amaze me and I’m sure that makes you say WTF? 
But it’s true. Also you crack me up alot too. That’s what makes you a great writer, your ability to mix the hilarious with the heartbreaking. Thank you so much for allowing me to read this. And for posting it. It truly is an honor. I think what you are doing for Maddy and Liz is probably one of the most incredible things I’ve ever ‘witnessed’. You’re an amazing man and an even more amazing father.
Wow Matt. Reading your words brought back so many memories of being in Calcutta, seeing and experiencing what you write about first hand. It is an experience that I will never forget. A smell that I cannot burn from my memory. Thank you for writing of your journeys, as hard as they may be.
Blessings to you and your sweet girl today!
Very lovely and I can picture what you are visualizing somewhat with your eyes as I watched a program on this topic this week and what it means for this culture…I can only imagine though what your heart feels and I feel for you in this time and the place you are in.
Safe travel.
Wow.
haunting, penetrating truth, thank you for exposing so much of yourself to so many of us
Yeah…um…that was seriously good!
another view of death, from someone else’s perspective, but still just as haunting
The tears are fresh as I read this entry…your loss is so deep and I am so sad as I realize this depth of your loss. I cry for you and for all those people who have lost those that made their days brighter. You know that life will end, but the when, where and why are a mystery…it just seems so unfair. I am overwhelmed by emotion as I sit here and write this and wish there was some way to make that pain go away, but alas, we must feel that pain and sorrow, hurt and fear to know that life too has those good emotions…hoping Maddy continues to bring those to you. Sending you my best from across the miles and the oceans…your writing truly amazes me and I am feeling these emotions with you through your writing. Thank you for allowing us all to be on this journey with you…it truly is a blessing.
I’ve said this before, but this is a really awesome post. You took me to a place I haven’t been where I felt like I could see, hear and smell what was happening….all while sitting in my drab cubicle in Washington, DC. Powerful.
I wish I could my thoughts down in words like you! Very very honest writing.
I wish I could put my thoughts down in words like you! Very very honest writing.
You are honestly one of my favorite authors….this was so amazing and beautiful….wow
Wow … Wow is all I can say matt. That was beautiful. I lost my fiancee in 1997 and for the most part I have moved on and can handle thinking about him and what was us without crying and actually smiling at the times we were allowed to spend together but when I read this (while at work) I had to get up from my desk because I lost it – sobbing. It brings back the pain I felt for so long of losing him and it makes me feel all that pain that you are feeling still now. I empathise with you and I wish I could just give you and maddy a big hug and tell you that it does get easier – the pain will never leave but someday it will be easier. I love your writing and I am so happy that it seems to be healing for you and someday it will be healing for lil maddy. In a strange way even though I thought I had moved on your writing is healing for me. Thank you for sharing your life with us.
Bobbi and Gracelyn
I don’t even know what to say…that was beautiful and so emotional. All these sites and sounds must be so hard on you. Be good to yourself. You are on a difficult journey.
“..and i remember
that day,
when i had
to make the hardest
decision of
my life,
and even now
i wonder if
i made the right one.”….so incredibly beautiful, but don’t second guess yourself. You made the best decision you could for your family under the most difficult situation.
Find peace. Be happy, friend.
PS…this post is not showing up on the home page as the most recent…I actually have no idea how I came across it. I just realized that when you go to the bottom of the “403″ post…there is an arrow that allows you to move forward to “breathing”…Hope this info is helpful or makes sense at all.
I came across this page by accident it seems. The past two posts have a rawness that just invite us to the core of our stranger friend Matt. I know this is hard and that you are struggling. I know that this is what you need to face and I know I am so honored to be reading your thoughts.
Sending hugs and prayers
thank you for taking me back to a memory in a place far from mini-soda. Your words are not mine, but the pictures are and the retelling of the story is. The threads that make up the tapestry – pretty damn profound.
Hauntingly beautiful. I had to read it twice.
To put such an experience into words is amazing. I felt I was there watching it with you.
Can’t believe I missed this one. It’s so beautiful.
Mattt, I’ve read your words for many months now and always found your brutal honesty moving. This post is by far the most impressive (in depth and form). You are definitely a writer. Never doubt that.
Regards from Mexico,
Patricia
Matt,
I’ve been a blog reader for a long time but never a comment poster before today. I felt I had to say something after reading your blog for almost a year. I’m sitting here, unable to stop the tears falling from my eyes, thinking that Liz was the luckiest woman on this earth. She was and is loved so completly by you. If I ever meet a man that loves me half as much as that, I’ll be happy.
Absolutely crushing, vivid, breathtaking…beautiful.
um. WOW!
I have no words…
this is incredible writing Matt – incredible.
I am so glad you have been able to pour out your soul – the words are coming together so beautifully…
I simply cannot wait to read the rest!!
Wow…no words.
I too missed this one somehow. I really would have been sad if I didn’t stumble upon it.
You are a brilliant writer. It seemed like I was there with you while you were describing what you saw. I did not like the imagine in my mind, just because it is not familiar with me and it made me uncomfortable. But thank you for making be get a little out of my comfort.
Many blessings to you while you are on your journey.
Matt, I read this a while a go and to be honest didn’t fully get it, but reading it now I think I have a better understanding. Beautiful words . . .
amazingly, hauntingly beautiful.
Vivid indeed.
crushing and freeing…all at once.
we always make the best decisions we can…at the time we make them.
Thank you for bringing this post to the attention of those who didn’t see it before. You, and Liz, make me better at what I do, in both life and profession. You are a masterful writer. Thank you.
Wow…moving.
there’s a big sense of darkness and sadness, yet also tinged with hope and happiness. amazing. truely amazing.
Lovely…I know there will always be some shock in everything that has happened to Liz and you and of course, Maddy…a jarring that maybe hard to explain to others…but u do beautiful in conveying those emotions….I know a mother whose young daughter passed from cancer two years ago and she recently wrote through her trying to understand it all that of course the only things humans truely in common is we all love and we all suffer. I guess that commonality, although, the suffering and the love may be different for each person, allow those here and others to try and understand the ununderstandable that you’ve endured, to bring you back to love. Anyway…..
Best
wow
Holy shit, that was goooooooood.
Wow.
I have no words to express to you what YOUR words mean to me.
You are an incredible writer, I agree with your other commenters.
What is more incredible, and more uplifting despite the circumstances, is your love for Liz, and for Madeline.
I am so glad I found your blog. Sometimes it’s hard to read, but you know? Sometimes life is hard.
What I get most from your writing is feeling, and as far as I’m concerned, you can never have enough feeling in your life.
Thank you for sharing your feelings with us.
Matt, your writing is so vivid and powerful; I am sure I will read your book in one sitting. The way you write resonates with me and I get it.
Words cannot begin to describe how beautiful and touching this post is. All I can say is WOW!
Wow. This one hurts for us – incomprehensible how much it hurt for you.
I think we never know what is ‘right’ when we are faced with decisions like the one you were faced with. In some ways progress had made life so much easier and in some ways just so much harder. Thinking of you today.
Wow. You are an amazing writer and how hard that must have been for you. You are a great husband and daddy.
well where the hell was that hiding? pretty awesome visuals.
WOW – so moving.
Took my breath away Matt. My heart goes out to you.
Very moving. I can’t really think of anything else to say but that. You’re a very gifted writer, Matt. You draw people in and it’s as though we are there, in that moment.
Oh wow. That just grabbed me and didn’t let me go.
shocking. i don’t think i could watch. maybe i wouldn’t be able to look away. breathing them in. that’s something to think about.
absolutely beautiful words Matt. i felt as if i were there.
Wow! very vivid. i felt like i was there w/ you and Maddy… w/ you and Liz 5 yrs ago. you are an amazing writer!
So full of visuals and emotions; very, very moving.
This is so hauntingly beautiful. Thank you for sharing it.
I read this before but I didn’t remember it all. How was it hidden, I think it appeared on my reader or maybe I found a link. Either way it is amazing, it really made me think.
that took my breathe away. beautifully written. very moving.
I felt like I was there with you…awsome
I definitely missed this the first time around. I’m glad you shared it with those of us that did. I don’t know how I missed it, since I check everyday for updates. Alas, I did. Moving on…
My husband stood behind me, reading along with me. It felt very profound to share something this moving with someone else. I closed my eyes and could see the images you were creating with your words. I felt those words just stab into me more and more. And it hurt. I know it was supposed to. It did. You and Madeline are never far from my thoughts. It’s kind of funny but you guys feel like family members I just haven’t met yet. Thank you for sharing this with us.
I so desperately hope to never find myself in your position. And I hope it’s only honest and not rude to say so. But that said — if I ever do, I’ve never seen a more beautiful model of grief. The gift you’re giving Maddy and Liz by doing this astounds me.
Matt,
You write with such a passionate and authentic voice. My husband (also Matt) can always tell when I’ve been reading your blog (loyally for a year now) b/c I cry nearly every time. And I look forward to it every time.
Thank you for sharing what’s yours.
Namaste,
Kara
PS — I hope you don’t mind but I have started a blog of my own and I’ve linked to yours. I’ll certainly remove the link if you wish.
Thanks for sharing this. Your writing is powerful. Felt like I was there.
Amazing. . . your words are some of the most powerful I have ever read.
Power…Life.. death… US… It is what it is.. it is US..
I’m speechless. Touched. Feel like I was there with you.
You make the best decisions you can with what you have and hope for the best. That’s all we can do.
Thank you for sharing.
okay matt, where was this hidden? Its powerful, I think you know that… thanks for sharing.. its a dark place not many of us want to venture to… but there is comfort there
thank you.
your words help me travel my own journey of grief more than you could ever now. as fellow second-guesser, i know how terrible it is to think those thoughts.
i like the imagery of breathing her in…like fuel for your own life.
best wishes in your journey.
matt, thank you for sharing that. it made complete sense. your words take me along on your journey and i feel grateful to you for assisting in opening my eyes and heart to things i had long tossed away the key to. you have a true gift.
Your writing. Holy shit. That was a work of art.
Wow…
This was one of my favorites when it was originally posted, I remember stumbling on it by accident and I have to agree, It moved me to tears then and again today. Beautiful writing, Matt… simply beautiful.
I conscious has been shifted.
beautiful. your daughter will really appreciate your writing when she is older. an insight into both of her parents.
Well.
Put that one in your book.
Very powerful – thank you for bringing this out of hiding – for letting us share with your breathing.
Beautiful Matt
My favorite post so far. You were born to write.
Very powerful and thoughts that unless you have faced death, you don’t really get. Remarkable. Thank you for taking the time to put those details out for us to breathe in. I am breathing in on this eve of Valentine’s day where still I want to breathe in my loving husband who is no longer with us. I took our daughter out to dinner tonight and made myself feel his presence and enjoy our gift, our daughter. We already have our biggest gift for tomorrow. Your is M and mine is Paige.
Wow. Incredible writing, Matt.
I have never commented, but watched you and Maddy grow over the past 2 years. But today, I had to leave my thoughts. I am so moved by your writing. It was hard to read as the tears rolled down my face. I saw what you saw through your words. I am moved every time I read your thoughts and see your pictures. The relationship you are building with Maddy is a gift from God.
I’ll be honest, I read through it quickly so it wouldn’t hurt. It still stung though but in a good way. Thank you.
Raw, and honest, and real. What could be more beautiful? or more painful? There is commonality in pain, and essentially in life, since life is pain.
Thanks for sharing.
perfect. if i didn’t know, i would think it was so shallow, so…. trying too hard. but i know you mean your words and that makes all the difference.
Matt, I lost my husband in 07 when I was 4 months pregnant and am battling the pain of grieving every minute of every day. I too suffered through the agonizing “decision” and still question it too. I write about my daily pain on my blog too, and I love reading what you write because I usually have also gone through it. We shouldn’t have to suffer like this, it’s so unfair…
thank you. that was beautiful.
So touching. I almost lost my breath reading it. Almost.
I found it back then and still love it today. I’ve gone back and read it more than once, in fact. Amazing.
that was beautiful Matt, thank you for letting us into your life and sharing your experiences with us. This entry made me feel like I was there, like I almost feel it…. very emotional.
If I am familiar with 2 things in this world, they are life and death. I lost my mother when I was four years old, forcing me to learn at a very early age that life isn’t always fair and that while all things have endings those endings aren’t necessarily happy. I also learned that each ending is really a new beginning even though it may not seem like it at the time.
Your words are a testament to the love you have for your wife and the hope you have for yourself and your child. I will continue to pray for you both.
Simply amazing and full of emotion. I get it, I feel it.