At what point did you decide to write about your daughter's death, and why? Why share it?
I wanted to share it to be useful. I didn't initially intend to make it into a book. I wrote a New Yorker essay to get it out of my system; it was the only way I knew to feel better. The editor, David Remnick, said the piece was wise and urged me to write more. He also said, "When you write this, write with more grace than pain." If you write only from pain, you write standing on your feet rather than on your knees.
You say that you had grown weary of your anger. How do you feel now?
The holiday season is a crummy season for my family, so the anger is greater right now. It flared up in December when we went to the cemetery. The anger goes up and down. It's futile to be angry at God--the God I believe in doesn't care. He set the world in motion and left it. But his not caring became a personal affront to me.
Where are you in your role of not quite grandparent, not quite parent? Are you and Ginny still part of the household?
We are, and it's now been two years. We know what we are doing--it's no longer a role, it's our life. It's very easy.
What has stayed with you? Any words of wisdom?
Yes. Life--get on with it. And I am kinder as a person, more alert to the feelings of others. I can use my wit liberally, but am more careful with it now. I'm more aware of the fragility of life, and want to make sure that the last word anyone hears from me is kind. Being smart is not special; being kind is. Everything has been a gift.
See the video trailer for Making Toast here.