1239: My Father Flying by Jan Beatty

Summary

Summary of Episode 1239: "My Father Flying" by Jan Beatty

Introduction

In Episode 1239 of The Slowdown: Poetry & Reflection Daily, produced by American Public Media and hosted by Micah Kielbaun, listeners are invited into a deeply personal exploration of grief, memory, and the enduring presence of loved ones through poetry. This episode features the poignant poem “My Father Flying” by Jan Beatty, which serves as a vessel for reflecting on loss, connection, and the landscapes that hold our memories.

Micah Kielbaun’s Personal Narrative

Micah Kielbaun opens the episode by sharing his intimate family history, setting the stage for a heartfelt reflection on grief and resilience. He recounts his mother's 35-year career as a flight nurse, detailing the emotional and physical toll of transporting patients who required advanced medical care across the Pacific Northwest.

"An ambulance ride would often take too long. It was hard work, physically and emotionally. There was danger to it too." ([00:49])

Micah notes the profound impact of loss on his family, highlighting the tragic helicopter crashes that claimed the lives of his mother’s colleagues and his own parents. These experiences instilled in him an acute awareness of mortality and the lingering presence of those who have passed.

"I learned that I was born into that time of grief. Maybe it's why I'm the poet of the family." ([00:49])

Themes of Grief and Memory

Delving deeper, Micah reflects on the nature of grief as both a heavy burden and a meaningful practice. He emphasizes the importance of community and rituals in navigating loss, suggesting that while loved ones may physically depart, their essence remains intertwined with our lives.

"Humans are permeable to loss. In that way, grief feels sometimes like a burden, a heavy one. But it is also a practice." ([00:49])

Micah shares how small rituals and memories serve as lifelines, allowing him to honor those he has lost while finding moments of lightness and connection. Whether through a shared drink or a familiar landscape, these acts help maintain the presence of loved ones in his daily life.

Introduction of "My Father Flying" by Jan Beatty

Transitioning to the poem, Micah introduces Jan Beatty’s “My Father Flying,” which encapsulates his year-long journey of mourning and remembrance following his father’s death. The poem serves as a narrative of walking through places that were significant to his father, weaving together personal anecdotes and vivid imagery.

Analysis of the Poem

“My Father Flying" is a meditative piece that captures Micah’s interactions with his father’s former haunts, blending memory with the natural world. The poem begins with Micah recounting his visits to his father’s favorite spots, such as the local Texaco station and the VFW Post 5012, where his father spent time with fellow veterans.

"The two slumped over vets at the bar bobbed their heads and raised their beers." ([02:15])

These scenes are not just physical locations but symbolic spaces where Micah feels his father's presence. The act of sharing stories and raising a beer in his father's memory exemplifies the communal aspect of mourning and the sustaining power of shared narratives.

As Micah walks through these familiar areas, he begins to perceive his father "flying" through the landscape, symbolizing an enduring connection that transcends physical absence. The imagery of "red maple" and "white patch in the December branches" evokes a sense of continuity and the omnipresence of memories.

"After that I saw my father flying in the trees by the old roads... Everywhere." ([05:50])

The poem beautifully intertwines the natural environment with personal loss, suggesting that his father's spirit is interwoven with the very fabric of his surroundings. This blending of memory and nature offers a comforting perspective on loss, portraying it as an integral part of life's ongoing journey.

Conclusion

Episode 1239 of The Slowdown masterfully navigates the complexities of grief through Micah Kielbaun’s personal reflections and Jan Beatty’s evocative poem. By intertwining narrative and poetry, the episode provides listeners with a profound understanding of how loss shapes our identities and how memories and rituals help sustain the bonds we share with those who have passed. Through heartfelt storytelling and lyrical beauty, The Slowdown invites us all to pause, reflect, and find solace in the shared human experience of love and loss.

Notable Quotes:

• Micah Kielbaun on grief as a practice:

  "Humans are permeable to loss. In that way, grief feels sometimes like a burden, a heavy one. But it is also a practice." ([00:49])

• Reflection on enduring presence through memory:

  "While I am on this earth, I know myself by who I love. When someone I love leaves the earth, the love is still there." ([00:49])

• Imagery from the poem:

  "After that I saw my father flying in the trees by the old roads... Everywhere." ([05:50])

Final Thoughts

This episode not only honors the memory of loved ones but also underscores the role of poetry in processing and expressing complex emotions. Listeners are encouraged to engage with their own experiences of grief and remembrance, finding comfort and connection through the shared language of poetry.

Transcript

[Grant Gill]

This episode is brought to you by AARP. 18 years from tonight, Grant Gill will become a comedy legend when he totally kills it at his improv class's graduation performance. Knees will be slapped. Hilarity will ensue. That's why he's already keeping himself in shape and razor sharp today with wellness tips and tools from AARP to help make sure his health lives as long as he does. Because the younger you are, the More you need AARP. Learn more at aarp.org healthyliving what's up?

[Micah Kielbaun]

It's major. Today's episode is hosted by Poet and Slowdown producer Micah Kielbaun. Don't worry, I'll be back on November 25th.

I'm Micah Kielbaun and this is the Slowdown. My mother was for 35 years a flight nurse. She conducted hospital to hospital transport of patients who needed a higher level of care in western Washington and the greater Pacific Northwest. An ambulance ride would often take too long. It was hard work, physically and emotionally. There was danger to it too. Twice helicopters crashed into the water, killing both nurses and the pilot, my mom's colleagues. There were days where my mother and her crew lost a patient and after a 24 hour shift, having witnessed death, she would come home to mother three children. In the last year, my mother opened up to me about her journeys in grief with her colleagues and with the loss of her parents. Most of the pilots that she worked with were ex military, many of the Vietnam generation. They learned in their youth that hardest lesson, how to keep on when you lose the person beside you who you knew, who could have been you. She told me that the pilots taught her and the other survivors how to work through that grief. My parents were in their late 30s after the first crash, raising two little kids, their community full of young families like them. My grandfather would die that year as well. I learned that I was born into that time of grief. Maybe it's why I'm the poet of the family. Humans are permeable to loss. In that way, grief feels sometimes like a burden, a heavy one. But it is also a practice. People we love leave this earth, but they don't leave us. We can find lightness in small rituals, small memorials to share with the world the version of the person that we have folded up inside of ourselves. A shot of well whiskey and a Miller High life will take me to someone I miss and need to be with, even if just for a moment. While I am on this earth, I know myself by who I love. When someone I love leaves the earth, the love is still there. Those who remain in a community form a lifeline, and a knowing touch can buoy us back up from the depths. Today's poem finds solace in the people with whom we share the dead, and finds connection, too, in the landscapes with which we share life. My Father Flying By Jan Beatty the year after my father died, I walked around to his places. Not the cemetery but to his people, the Texaco where he took his old Ford Fairlane for repair. Half mile from the house, I lugged two six packs of Iron City to the mechanics. Chuck, just out of high school, an older Joe, his round belly hanging over his belt so big he rested it on the cars like a second body. We told stories until the beer was gone. I walked into my father's VFW. Elmer J. Zeiler Post 5012 said I was my father's daughter. Good man, the old bartender said. The two slumped over vets at the bar bobbed their heads and raised their beers. After that I saw my father flying in the trees by the old roads, a glimpse, a wind shudder in the red maple while everyday people kept walking behind the shopping center, a white patch in the December branches. I'd pull over and look and knew he lived in the bends and curves, the familiar sky, everywhere. That was the year I looked up in that year, after he was living everywhere. The Slowdown is a production of American Public Media in partnership with the Poetry Foundation. This project is also supported in part by the National Endowment for the Arts on the [e-mail] to get a poem delivered to you daily, go to slowdownshow.org and sign up for our newsletter and find us on Instagram Lownshow.

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