How Shakespeare Helped Me Survive My Sister’s Death and the Loss of the Best Job I Ever Had
Poor naked wretches, whereso’er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
Your loop’d and window’d raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these? — King Lear
My sister died earlier this year. The excruciating pain is still with me. It will always be with me.
This year also marks an end to the best job I ever had. Just months before my sister died, I’d been asked to take on a new role that wasn’t a particularly good fit. In the weeks after her death, it became clear for a variety of reasons that my time at the company was coming to a close. I now had to confront two formidable losses all at once.
Somehow, in the midst of all this loss, I found my way back to Shakespeare.
When I was much younger, I loved Shakespeare and had read almost all of his plays — many of them numerous times. At some point over the past summer — shortly after my sister’s death — I finally decided to introduce my ten-year old daughter to the joys of his poetry. It was just one of those things I had been meaning to do.
To get started, I read How to Teach Your Children Shakespeare by Ken Ludwig. I found myself enchanted by the language of the quotes discussed by Ludwig. Inspired by this fine book, I then went on to binge-read four of my favorite plays: As You Like It; The Tempest; King Lear; and Henry IV, Part I. Unexpectedly, I began experiencing the healing qualities of Shakespeare’s language and wisdom.
One of the most consoling of all the characters was the charming Rosalind from As You Like It. Like me, Rosalind grew up without her father. She always tries to do the right thing, even under difficult circumstances. Despite being banished from her home to the Forest of Arden, she displays tremendous grace and resourcefulness, while helping everyone solve their problems throughout the play.
Sure, she’s only a fictional character, but I truly benefited from her wit and steadiness — it felt like I was hanging out with one of my most-trusted friends.
I especially enjoyed the lighthearted scene where Rosalind chides a shepherdess from the Forest of Arden who was treating her suitor shabbily. Rosalind asks her, “Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?” and later adds, “I see no more in you than in ordinary sale-work.” In other words, Rosalind is saying, “you’re not so attractive that you can act so haughtily towards someone who cares about you.”
After warning the suitor about such a woman, Rosalind continues her gentle criticism:
But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees,
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man’s love:
For I must tell you friendly in your ear,
Sell when you can: you are not for all markets.
The language here is melodic — “I must tell you friendly in your ear…” But it also makes me smile that Rosalind is advising this country lass that she might not be as beautiful as she thinks she is. There’s something extremely pleasant about spending time with Rosalind. And I like the way she sorts everything out in the final act.
Another character I appreciated during my reading was Falstaff — the drunken and larger-than-life friend to Hal, the Prince of Wales in Henry IV, Part I. The narrative of this play is a classic tale. The Prince of Wales has been drinking and carousing with his degenerate friends but must now choose to accept the responsibilities that come with being an heir to the throne. Hal will find himself casting off one role and taking up another.
In one particularly hilarious scene, Prince Hal pretends to be King Henry IV. He harshly interrogates his son, Prince Hal, enacted by Falstaff. Unsurprisingly, Falstaff’s Hal vigorously defends none other than Falstaff himself. He says,
If sack and sugar be a fault,
God help the wicked! if to be old and merry be a
sin, then many an old host that I know is damned: if
to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh’s lean kine
are to be loved.
These words are meant to make everyone laugh, of course. But then Falstaff gets somewhat emotional. He concludes “Hal’s defense of Falstaff” by declaring it is fine for the King to banish all of Hal’s (aka Harry) decadent friends, but then adds:
…but for sweet Jack
Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff,
valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant,
being, as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him
thy Harry’s company, banish not him thy Harry’s
company: banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.
This really moved me. Despite all of his profane and absurd comments throughout the play, Falstaff reveals his tender feelings for Hal. He doesn’t want to be sent away. For me, the words “banish all the world” describe what a major loss feels like.
On a personal level, my decision to leave a company that was extremely important to me felt like I was losing a whole world. Obviously, business is business but this company had always seemed like family to me. And even though it was my choice to leave in order to pursue a new project, the thought that I might not be missed by my colleagues made me understand Falstaff’s sentiment. Loss can feel like abandonment, regardless of who is doing the leaving and under what circumstances. Emily Dickinson expressed a similar idea in the poem “I lost a World — the other day.”
King Lear stirred up even more powerful emotions. I’ve always believed that the scene where Lear defiantly encourages a terrible storm to wreak havoc on mankind is one of the most powerful scenes in all of literature. Prior to the storm, Lear had wrongly exiled one of his daughters, while also having recently been betrayed by his two other daughters. All the while, he’s conscious of his approaching senility.
As the storm gathers in intensity, Lear stands unprotected on the heath and shouts,
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Smite flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!
Crack nature’s moulds, an germens spill at once,
That make ingrateful man!
Lear’s rant on the heath is exactly how I felt after my sister’s death. I was bursting with powerful emotions — “Smite flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!” — but didn’t know what to do with them. And nothing I could do or say would bring my sister back. A sense of injustice combined with powerlessness made me understand precisely why one might go out on a heath in the middle of a deadly storm. I wanted to do the same.
Lear also captured something else related to my sister’s death. Later that evening after Lear finally comes in out of the storm, he remarks,
Poor naked wretches, whereso’er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
Your loop’d and window’d raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these?
Lear had just experienced for the first time what it was like to be homeless, and as a result, he could now sincerely feel empathy for the poor of his kingdom. Having been through an unspeakable tragedy of my own, I also had become keenly aware of the suffering of the Syrian refugees and other victims of injustices. King Lear is an extremely despairing play to read, but at this particular time in my life, it tapped into a lot of the emotions I’d been feeling in my bereavement.
While Lear transported me to the depths of the abyss, The Tempest provided me with a way out of that bleak and inhospitable place. In the play, Prospero has been exiled to a faraway island, after having lost his dukedom to his treacherous brother. Despite that misfortune, Prospero finds solace in his passion for learning and in the love of his daughter, Miranda. He eventually recovers his property and forgives his enemies.
Shakespeare is a master of endings and the final lines from Prospero are particularly beautiful and inspiring to me. Scholars believe this soliloquy also represents Shakespeare’s farewell to the theater. Here it is in its entirety:
Now my charms are all o’erthrown,
And what strength I have’s mine own,
Which is most faint. Now ’tis true
I must be here confined by you
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got,
And pardoned the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands.
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant;
And my ending is despair
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so, that it assaults
Mercy itself, and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardoned be,
Let your indulgence set me free.
This is exactly how I’d like to say goodbye to the firm I’ve loved for the past eleven years — with grace and honesty. Prospero says, “what strength I have’s mine own, which is most faint.” As I embark on my new initiative, I feel considerably weaker after what I’ve been through this year, but I’m also hopeful, too.
I like that Prospero appeals to the audience to pray for him — “prayer, which pierces so, that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faults.” I hope my colleagues will remember me fondly and wish me well in my future endeavors. For me, a good ending is free of negativity and regrets. Prospero puts it perfectly:
As you from crimes would pardoned be,
Let your indulgence set me free.
In order to pursue my new project, I’m giving up a good job with great benefits. The new pursuit pays nothing, at least in the near term. To paraphrase Lear, who will defend me, now?
And that’s where Prince Hal –my favorite Shakespearean character — enters the stage. His humility and quiet confidence inspire me to pursue my dream, despite the pain and sadness of recent losses.
One scene in particular emboldens me. Right before a big battle against the treasonous Hotspur and his army, Prince Hal meets his father, King Henry IV, for a private conference. His father expresses severe disappointment in his son. While Hal had been partying with the likes of Falstaff, he saw his reputation diminished in the hearts of his countrymen. This fact angers his father, who even wonders if Hal’s character is so far gone that he’s secretly in alliance with the traitors.
To the grave charge of treason, Hal responds, “Do not think so; you shall not find it so.”
He then tells his father how he will challenge the gallant Hotspur on the battlefield. Either Hal will defeat him and thereby redeem himself or he’ll die in the attempt. Hal then asks the King,
I do beseech your majesty may salve
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance:
If not, the end of life cancels all bands;
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.
In a symbolic way, Hal’s appearance before his father captures how I feel as I go forward. I’ve experienced some crushing losses this year, but I’m also ready to face what lies ahead. The notion of “honor” is important in this play. For Hotspur, “honor” is the glory and notoriety one receives for achieving great things — at one point he says,
By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap
To pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon…
For Falstaff, “honor” is an empty word not worth risking one’s life over. Prince Hal defines “honor” as something one achieves by bravely accepting one’s destiny in this world. That’s how I choose to see it, too, as I move towards a new phase in my life.
Further reading:
• How to Teach Your Children Shakespeare by Ken Ludwig
• The Year of Lear by James Shapiro
• As You Like It
• The Tempest
• King Lear
• Henry IV, Part 1
