Kathleen Norris on The Dead

Kathleen Norris on JOHN HUSTON’S THE DEAD

I was six years old when my beloved dog Lady died. The loss felt larger than anything I had known, and although I felt helpless  I needed to respond in some way. So I took a toy ironing board (a common gift for girls in the 1950’s) and set it up in the back yard. Covering it with an old tablecloth my mother provided, I placed a number of objects there, the dog’s collar and some cherished trinkets of my own. It stood for weeks, exposed to the elements, until my dad gently suggested that we take it down.  

My parents lived lengthy and fruitful lives, but they are long gone, as is my dear husband and one sister. Like most adults I carry my beloved dead with me as memories that surface when I least expect it, making me sad but also grateful for all the time I had with them.