There are lots of jokes about forgotten anniversaries, usually to reprove husbands who have forgotten the anniversary of their marriage. I have forgotten my own wedding anniversary numerous times, much to the chagrin of my husband. But an anniversary I would rather not remember is the date of Carolyn Heilbrun’s suicide. Today, October 9, the day I write this, is the anniversary of my friend’s suicide. Actually, it was a Thursday not a Wednesday, but I guess the date is more to the point, though the day seems more real. Carolyn believed in routine, and Thursday was Susan Heath.
I was in England when Carolyn’s great friend Susan Heath called with the news. Thursday was their designated day for dinner, and when Susan arrived at the building for their date she discovered the body. “The journey is over,” Carolyn wrote in the only note we know about, “Love to all.” Carolyn had left little to chance and she had counted on Susan to have the strength to survive the experience.
Today I was teaching poems by poets Carolyn loved and admired, even if she had occasional minor quarrels with them―Rich and Sexton. Reading poetry today in the digital age is a heightened experience since we can look at and listen to poets reading their poetry. While looking at the YouTube menu, an interview between Diane Middlebrook and Anne Sexton caught my eye. I couldn’t resist making the students listen to Diane’s voice―we had just read her wonderfully explanatory essay “What Was Confessional Poetry?”―and it seemed appropriate to listen at least briefly.
Slipped into my copy of Rich’s The Fact of a Doorframe, was a fax from Carolyn: CGH to NKM, dated March 19, 1998. It was the closing stanza of “Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law.” Beneath the poem Carolyn had handwritten a quotation from The Second Sex in which Beauvoir creates the metaphor of the amazing woman that Rich seems to reprise when she writes–“as beautiful as any boy/or helicopter.” Beauvoir’s prose: “she is a helicopter and she is a bird.”
These two friends loved poetry and both are dead, Carolyn by suicide in 2003, Diane from cancer in 2007. Sexton’s suicide links Carolyn and Diane in my mind. Carolyn was an attentive reader of suicide; so was Diane, since she had also written the biography of Plath in her relation to Hughes.
Suddenly, there I was in the classroom looking at bright young faces and feeling very far away, in a place where death was all too real. I did not mention the anniversary to the students because it would not have been an anniversary for them; they had nothing to remember.
For over 20 years, I had dinner with Carolyn. Tuesdays. As each week passes, I remember that I’m not having dinner with Carolyn, or as my husband used to say, “having Carolyn.” That day of the week always seems empty to me.
I’ve picked up the weekly dinner with Victoria Rosner, who was also Carolyn’s student. Carolyn almost always dines with us.
I wish Carolyn had not felt so alone. I wish she had let time catch up with her. Today she’d have been 87. It’s not, I think now, that old.
I consider myself a feminist, but after reading Carolyn's two books Writing a Woman's Life and Hamlet's Mother, my eyes were opened. I gained more respect and was thankful for the independent mother I had who often drove me crazy. I saw the world in a way I'd never viewed before. She was, indeed, a brilliant, thoughtful woman and writer. I don't, however, view suicide as many do. My dad killed himself and I understood why. Sometimes life doesn't give you what you need to go on, and sometimes as in my dad's case, he knew he'd be more of a burden than a help. That doesn't mean that at times, I don't tell him a thing or two about what it's been like not having him in my life, but I also want to keep my empathy for those who feel their time has come. I do share your sense of an empty place at the table. I often wish he were here just to argue politics with or share stories. He was painter and writer who didn't follow his dreams because of his sense of duty. Carolyn, fortunately for the rest of us, left so much to consider and think about. I didn't know her, but I wish I had. Arms around you, Nancy.
I've been moved and grateful to all of your responses to my post.
It's true that by her writing Carolyn touched many women's lives and made us feel less alone.
That is, perhaps, the last gift of time--last but long-lasting.
Your post is awesome, but what truly hits is the title of the book, Life Beyond Sixty. The exciting news is that I have one, and in mnay ways it is beyond my wildest dreams. Thanks so much for sharing.
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You have kept Carolyn alive for us in your remembrance. Suicide leaves a hard grief to bear. The anniversary seems a precious time to remember how much she brought to your life. We are all "but a moment's sunlight" as the song goes. What a gift when that light continues to burn through our words and our impact after we are gone.
Thank you for sharing this memory. Though I am not familiar with Carolyn Heilbrun's poetry, the hole in your life left by her absence is palpable. I would read her poetry now.
There are certain books that, when a hurricane is headed our way, I will grab from my bookshelves so as not to lose them. This book is one of those. Today is my 66th birthday, and one of Heilbrun's most valuable lessons to me was her "lust for solitude. A reviewer (Rebecca Pepper Sinkler) called her "bookish, ornery, brave". I hope that's the way some remember me as well. She knew that "one day, it will be otherwise", but her writing impacted my life, as her friendship impacted yours. You are blessed to have had her in your presence. Regards.
Oh, Nancy... I'm so truly sorry for your loss. Thank you for this beautiful post (and for the additional glimpse into your life -- what a friend you much be, to have someone reserve a night for you each week! You inspire me to want to try harder at my few true friendships.) I hope each of us this touches can carry away with us a little of your heartache, to lessen it. xoxo.
Thank you for your thoughtful post. I was fortunate to know both Diane Middlebrook and Carolyn Heilbrun, both through my teaching of women's studies and literature as well as my doctoral work at UC Santa Cruz in the History of (Feminist) Consciousness. They both added so much to our lives as feminist scholars and writers, yet they were so different. I recall Diane once saying to me, only several years before her cancer was discovered: "I am one of the, probably, five luckiest women in the world." Carolyn was a visiting scholar at UC Santa Cruz for one year and at one point discussed with me how lonely she was down there and how she missed NYC. I told her how much I admired her and her work.
I didn't know Carolyn or her work but you've brought her to life with your beautiful tribute. I'm sorry she felt so alone, if only for that tragic moment, too, but I'm sure she appreciated you and your beautiful friendship. That much comes through clearly from your words.
I'm glad you wrote this. Though I never met her, Carolyn Heilbrun was an icon to me and I was saddened by her suicide. It's nice to read a remembrance about the personal.
Your thoughts about your friend Carolyn and her suicide are so moving. While researching a biography of a wonderful singer and writer, Susannah McCorkle, I was plunged into the subject of suicide because Susannah killed herself. Eventually, I came to see it as a red thread that ran through her life. Recreating her last days for the book was breathtakingly difficult. I felt as I imagine a deep sea diver who's afraid of the oxygen running out would feel, and interviewing the people who'd loved her required intricate sensitivity and patience. I called the book "Haunted Heart," after a beautiful song which Susannah had recorded.
A beautiful memory.