This Book Made Me Think of You(31)
“But while the rules around grief might have been flawed, I found myself envying the public nature of mourning in the past. When my mum died, I wanted to tie a black ribbon to our house. It felt ludicrous that no one on our street knew that behind our door, a family had just been shattered. I wanted to wear some marker of my loss on my body. A veil or a black cloak or just an enormous badge that read ‘I’m grieving.’ Before it happened, I imagined that I would want to deal with loss quietly and privately, but when death knocked at our door, I wanted people to know. Maybe so they could act a little kinder and be more understanding when I stood in the supermarket unable to choose between brands of biscuits, but also because I wanted the pain I felt to be visible because it was all I had left of my mum. I didn’t want to hide it, because hiding my grief felt like hiding the most important thing of all—my love for her.”
A movement at Tilly’s arm makes her pull her attention away from the stage. Her neighbor is handing her a tissue. “Here,” she says softly.
“Thank you,” Tilly says as she blows her nose.
“I’d like to read a short passage from my book, if that’s all right,” Amirah Lopez says from the stage.
Tilly listens in silence to a story of loss that is different from her own and yet holds so many similarities. Amirah describes some of her darkest moments but also how she came to find light again—for her through small pleasures like freshly ground coffee, walks with friends, and taking up her mother’s favorite hobby: stargazing.
“The telescope had always stood in the corner of our living room. A curious, shining silver contraption, and yet it held no real interest to me in the past because it was so much a part of my mother that using it would have been like trying on one of her cardigans or slipping my feet in her shoes—something that would feel wrong when the person is alive but becomes painfully appealing when they are gone. One night, not long after she died, I decided to give it a go. I drew my face up to the eyepiece, expecting to see only a blur and have to fiddle about with the settings. But I looked through and saw a glorious vision of light and dark. My mother was gone, and yet with the telescope held gently between my fingers, I had a part of her in my hands, and her heart spread out before me in the stars.”
Her voice wobbles on the final words, and then she quietly closes the book and sets it down on her lap. For a moment there is complete silence, before the small room bursts into rapturous applause.
Twenty-One
“I’m so happy you came,” says Cécile with a smile as Tilly approaches the book table. Amirah Lopez sits nearby, signing books and talking with people. Cécile wears another gray and black outfit but with the same bright red lipstick. “I hope it was OK to suggest it. I thought of your lovely husband and everything you are going through…and I always find books comforting during hard times.”
Tilly picks up a copy, running her hand over the cover decorated in stars. It looks even more beautiful now that she knows the meaning behind the design. Up until now Tilly has thought of her grief as a darkness, but she loves the idea of it being a light instead—a light that could shine and be spotted by other people who have experienced something similar.
“It was wonderful, thank you for suggesting it. I haven’t actually read any books about grief before.”
“It’s a beautiful book. It helped me to process the loss of my own mother. When I heard Amirah was doing this event, I insisted on working tonight.”
Tilly looks at Cécile with a new understanding, the two of them sharing another smile. By now the queue ahead has cleared, and Amirah Lopez smiles expectantly at Tilly.
“Hello,” she says as Tilly steps forward. “Thank you for coming to my event and for buying a book. Who would you like me to make the dedication to?”
Now that Tilly is standing in front of her, she feels starstruck in a way she never did in the presence of the celebrities she used to work with. Amirah waits patiently, a calm smile on her face.
“If you could please write it to Matilda. That’s me. I just have to say how much I enjoyed your reading and that I’m so glad I came tonight. I lost my husband last year, and I’ve never heard anyone speak about grief like that before. The story you told about your mother’s telescope…it really resonated. I think books are my telescope.”
The words tumble out of her. She’d been thinking about the books from Joe and how they feel like a connection to him but how reading them has opened up whole worlds to her, places she might not have seen otherwise, like this very room in this very bookshop. “Sorry, that probably doesn’t make any sense.”
“It makes a lot of sense. In fact, I think it’s a lovely idea. Books transport us and yet keep us rooted at the same time, exactly like a telescope. I hope you enjoy mine.”
She passes the book back, and Tilly holds it tightly in her arms. “Thank you,” she says with meaning, before stepping away to allow the next person in the queue their moment.
It’s only when she has moved to the side that she opens the book and reads the inscription.
Dear Matilda,
From one lone star to another—never forget that you are part of a constellation.
Amirah Lopez
Tilly is in no rush to leave the bookshop, groups milling about and chatting as the final copies of the book get bought and signed. She is browsing a shelf of newly released titles when Cécile approaches her.