Writer Julia Fournier considers love and loss under the moon
Download mp3 (5.81 MB)Not long ago, Phoenix writer Julia Fournier found herself spending a lot of time considering saudade. It’s a Portuguese word that can’t quite be translated to English. Saudade is the state of feeling melancholy or nostalgia for something or someone you will never see again. Sometimes, as Fournier learned, it takes someone who is in your life to pull you away.
In 2019, I finally made it to Portugal. In addition to guide book adventures, I also dove into the literature, music, art and history of the place.
I mentioned this because three months later on Oct. 16, I'm waiting for first light in a parking lot at Papago Park, thinking about how today would have been my dad's 85th birthday, and also about the eulogy I will give in three days at the celebration of life for my friend Gail, and there is a Portuguese word for what I think I am feeling: saudade.
Saudade is defined as the presence of absence or the longing for someone you will never see again.
My granddaughter Rosalina is with me, happily chewing a banana in her car seat. The dog is whining, letting me know it's time to get going. But I am allowing some early morning stillness to set in. The type of sadness I'm experiencing has a dark, rich texture to it. I can handle it. But then a slow sad song queues unexpectedly and tears start.
I turn to the back and Rosalina looks sad, too. She meets my gaze and her expression shifts slightly. raising her eyebrows she puts her palms up and says, "Baby Shark?" A quick song change and our moods lift, we pop out of the car and begin our daily hike.
As we walk along, I think about my father who I adored, who is also my dentist. Since his death in 2000, I have not needed any dental work. That is until a month ago when I pulled out a crown while eating a ginger chew. In the two weeks it took to have it re-cemented. My tongue went to the rough edged canyon of what used to be a polished gold molar relentlessly feeling the void.
When my teeth were intact, I didn't give it a second thought. But during the time of the hole, I thought of that tooth, and my dad, constantly. This has been my experience also over the past months since losing Gail. We were friends for over 35 years. Ten years apart in age, she taught me that being an adult can be fun, hiking is necessary, and the importance of a stiff drink in almost any situation. What started out as the improvised planning of younger people became decades of traditions, the boundary and laughter shaping and defining how our family spent time together. It is impossible to be in the world now and not be reminded of her absence in it. I know this will ease with time, but I am not sure I want it to.
They say saudade is part of the Portuguese character, an emotion only the Portuguese can understand. But on this day, I know I felt it.
My granddaughter and I walk the desert path as the day dawns. She points at the sky to our left. "Moon," she says. "Yes," I say. I point to the right where the rising sun has created pink and yellow rays against the soft rock forms in the eastern sun. I say yes, she nods.
Just like the sun and moon in the same sky at sunrise. We can experience both the sorrow of death and absence and the joy of a life well lived at once.
