How to Use Lists to Write Memoir: In Memoriam to the Best List Writer I’ve Known

SOME TIME AGO, I learned from an expert the exquisite skill of how to use lists to write memoir. It happened one night in a class and no one who witnessed it was unchanged. This was when I still taught in person and, at the first class of a session, would ask and listen to each student’s chosen personal essay topic. In every class, at least one writer would choose to write about someone who left and about the loss of that leaving.

But people leave in different ways. In this particular first class, a woman sat stiffly, her arms crossed in front of her, dark bangs slammed right down to her brow. When it was her turn to reveal her topic, our exchange went something like this:

“I’m not even sure why I’m here.”

Uh-huh.

“My best friend just died.”

Oh. Oh dear.

“And I’m not writing about that. Nope. Got nothing to say. Too soon. Three weeks ago. Cancer.” She exhaled and unfolded her arms, and I exhaled, and we sat and maybe the world spun a few times before I replied, but then I replied.

“Were you there when she died?”

“Yes.”

“Do you live far away or nearby?

“Three hours away. I got the call.”

“What did you pack?”

“What?”

“What did you take with you?”

The name of the writer is Joely Johnson Mork, and before I tell you what she brought in, I need to tell you that she just died. I also need to tell you that the name of the friend she was writing about was Mary “Mesa” Kittle, because Joely would want you to know that and because I am sifting through what little I have of my friend right now, moving my fingers slowly over what is left behind, feeling the power of this loss.

One of the things I have is this – the sheer belief that knowing how to use lists to write memoir was taught to me by what will follow here. This is what Joely brought to class number two, a week after she said she had nothing to say about the loss of her best friend and only three weeks after her friend had died. She brought in her list. Later, I gave it its title. Now I offer it to you.

Joely’s List That Helps With Loss

What I Brought
1. A copy of Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young’s “So Far.”
2. Three sticks of Buddhist incense that had been hand-delivered to me from Japan by a former lover.
3. A single change of clothes thrown without thinking into a canvas bag.
4. A week’s supply of Zoloft and Ativan.
5. My journal.
6. My marijuana pipe.
7. The turquoise necklace Mary brought back for me from Scottsdale.

What I Heard
1. Gale saying very solemnly, “Be prepared,” bowing her head to me as I walked toward the dining room where Mary was lying in her rented hospital bed.
2. The old-woman rasping of Mary’s breath.
3. Her husband’s surprised-sounding sobs.
4. The mechanical ocean sound of the oxygen tank.
5. Jeanne’s musical voice telling her daughter how honored she was to have been her mother and that it was OK to die now.
6. The moist crackle of fluid settling in Mary’s lungs.
7. The familiar, precious echo of Mary’s speaking voice breaking through her unconscious attempts to cough.
8. Thunder approaching with heavy boots and an empty sack slung over its back.
9. The release of rain on the leaves and earth outside the dining room windows.
10. The grinding of the hospital bed motor as we lowered the mattress after Mary had left us.

What I Said
1. On arriving, entering the kitchen to meet the crumpled faces of my friends standing there, “Oh, is she getting ready to spread her wings?”
2. “You have led an amazing life – you’ve done so much, we will all remember you.”
3. Whispered to Mary, when we were alone, “You are standing in front of a gate to a beautiful garden and the key is in your hand. Open the lock and let yourself walk inside. The sun is shining there – go, go, go.”

Thank you for the words, my friend. Thank you for teaching me how to use lists to write memoir. Thank you for your work, the friendship. Now you can lay down your burden and rest.