Memorial Days

 

Memorial Days by Geraldine Brooks

Nonfiction - Memoir

2025

Finished on November 14, 2025

Rating: 4.5/5 (Very Good)

Publisher's Blurb:

A heartrending and beautiful memoir of sudden loss and a journey to peace, from the bestselling, Pulitzer Prize-winning author of Horse.

Many cultural and religious traditions expect those who are grieving to step away from the world. In contemporary life, we are more often met with red tape and to-do lists. This is exactly what happened to Geraldine Brooks when her partner of more than three decades, Tony Horwitz – just sixty years old and, to her knowledge, vigorous and healthy – collapsed and died on a Washington, D. C. sidewalk.

After spending their early years together in conflict zones as foreign correspondents, Geraldine and Tony settled down to raise two boys on Martha’s Vineyard. The life they built was one of meaningful work, good humor, and tenderness, as they spent their days writing and their evenings cooking family dinners or watching the sun set with friends at Lambert’s Cove. But all of this came to an abrupt end when, on Memorial Day 2019, Geraldine received the phone call we all dread. The demands were immediate and many. Without space to grieve, the sudden loss became a yawning gulf.

Three years later, she booked a flight to a remote island off the coast of Australia with the intention of finally giving herself the time to mourn. In a shack on a pristine, rugged coast she often went days without seeing another person. There, she pondered the varied ways those of other cultures grieve, such as the people of Australia's First Nations, the Balinese, and the Iranian Shiites, and what rituals of her own might help to rebuild a life around the void of Tony's death.

A spare and profoundly moving memoir that joins the classics of the genre, Memorial Days is a portrait of a larger-than-life man and a timeless love between souls that exquisitely captures the joy, agony, and mystery of life.

I've only read two of Geraldine Brooks' novels (Year of Wonders and People of the Book), but now that I've read her recent memoir, I'm eager to try more of her books, especially Horse, which she completed after the death of her husband, Tony Horwitz. Memorial Days is an especially touching memoir in which Brooks recounts the days and weeks following the sudden death of her husband, while alternating chapters describe her retreat to Flinders Island three years later. 

When I get to Flinders Island, I will begin my own memorial days. I am taking something that our culture has stopped freely giving: the right to grieve. To shut out the world and its demands. To remember my love and to feel the immensity of his loss. "Grief is praise," writes Martin Prechtel in his book The Smell of Rain on Dust, "because it is the natural way love honors what it misses."

and

When I finally fall asleep, I don't wake till late. It's a gray, windy morning, and the sea is high. I have only a loose notion of how I will spend my time here. I will walk and reflect, taking whatever nature cares to offer me. I will write down everything I can recall about Tony's death and its aftermath. I will allow myself time and space to think about our marriage and to experience the emotions I've suppressed.

It's been over twenty years since my husband and I received the shocking news of our eldest daughter's death, and much of Brooks' thoughts on grief resonated deeply with me. I remember reading Joan Didion's book The Year of Magical Thinking shortly after Rachel's untimely death, hoping to find some comfort in Didion's words. While I highlighted several passages, the book didn't speak to me like Memorial Days. (I still have my review for that book languishing in my draft folder, and I'm not sure why I never got around to publishing it. Maybe I'll work on that in the coming weeks.)

Random Thoughts:

Geraldine's husband died on Memorial Day in 2017. Our daughter was killed on Memorial Day weekend (but not the actual day) in 2005.

Geraldine wasn't able to share the awful news of Tony's death in person with her son, having to resort to phoning him at his boarding school.  

That call, the sound of my son's sobs, in a place too far to reach for him and hug him, was a new depth of darkness on a dark, dark day.

We were living in Nebraska, and our younger daughter was in college in Texas. Making that phone call was the worst thing I have ever had to do.

I woke out of it [a dream], and there was a minute or two when everything felt fine. He wasn't dead. How ridiculous to have thought that. Yesterday--that was a dream.

Then I came fully awake. I lost him a second time.

I remember the early days when we would wake from a fitful sleep, those first moments of consciousness when we had yet to remember Rachel was gone. Like Brooks, we felt as if we were losing her a second time, day after day after day.

My sons' stories are their own to tell. I will not do that here. I will only say that on the street corner, with Bizu sagged against me, I did not know how lonely his journey would be and how little I would be able to help him.

So often when parents are dealing with their own grief, children suffer the loss of their sibling (or parent) by themselves. It was all we could do to get through each day. I often wonder if we could have done more for Amy had she lived at home rather than so far away at college.

On Grief:

In her essay "On Grief" Jennifer Senior quotes a therapist who likens the survivors of loss to passengers on a plane that has crashed into a mountaintop and must find their way down. All have broken bones; none can assist the others. Each will have to make it down alone.

On Writing:

I have written this because I needed to do it. Part of the treatment for a "complicated grief" is to relive the trauma of the death, returning to the moments again and again, striving each time to recall more detail. That is what I have tried to do.

My husband and I each created blogs comprised of letters to Rachel in the early months after her death. Those therapeutic blogs helped us deal with our grief, as well as provide our friends and family with a glimpse into how we were coping. As Joan Didion said, “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means.”

Our culture is averse to sad. We want people to be happy. We're chagrined and slightly offended when they're not. There is a desire to cheer them up. And then, later, there will be a glancing at the wristwatch, a tapping of the foot if they cannot be cheered, if their grief is perceived to go on too long. I wish we could resist those things.

Memorial Days is a beautiful, honest, thought-provoking memoir that touched my heart. I wish I could reach out and give Geraldine a hug. 

Highly recommend.