Frost Will Come: Essays from the Bardo
Autor Mary Cappelloen Limba Engleză Paperback – 27 oct 2026
Cappello renders an immersive and emotionally honest portrait of modern caregiving in a prose style that is the very definition of candor. While paying homage to expert caregivers and medical professionals, Cappello also brings her signature razor-sharp analysis to all the things that fall outside the realm of (medical) knowledge—from platitudes around the time death takes to the defiance of a “peaceful death” as a sign of a moral failing. More than a memoir of grief, Frost Will Come is a rare reckoning with the very fundamentals of existence: how we come into being, how we care, and how we die.
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Specificații
ISBN-13: 9780299361242
ISBN-10: 0299361241
Pagini: 264
Ilustrații: 21 b-w illus.
Dimensiuni: 140 x 216 mm
Greutate: 0.45 kg
Editura: University of Wisconsin Press
Colecția University of Wisconsin Press
ISBN-10: 0299361241
Pagini: 264
Ilustrații: 21 b-w illus.
Dimensiuni: 140 x 216 mm
Greutate: 0.45 kg
Editura: University of Wisconsin Press
Colecția University of Wisconsin Press
Cuprins
I Variations
I can’t remember . . .
things were so different at the beginning . . .
posthumous platitude number one: “her suffering is over now” . . .
vital word: inviolable
the feeling of being left behind
vital word: sigh
Imagined Dialogue
do I believe my mother is present? . . .
I have been living in my pajamas more and more . . .
which is worse, the where or the why
it is possible the dying have access to a kind of strength . . .
II Explanations
“They just don’t know”/terminal agitation, terminal restlessness
the recognitions
III Tempos
to begin with, a lost knapsack
to begin with, a book
memories lost or memories gained
the quilting of time out of season
in the beginning was the Fall . . .
for the love of ice cream
I think about the things upon which memory fastens . . .
candor, candid, candescent
IV Unanswerables
my mother’s first experience of death . . .
my mother’s plants are screaming . . .
my brother Joe seems to have access to a kind of joy
“They just don’t know”/ascites
hearing, they say, is the last thing to go
my mother is no longer an earthling . . .
V Dreams
after my mother dies, I dream . . .
after my mother dies, I dream . . .
I dreamt I was in my mom’s apartment . . .
I wake up to the lines of my own obituary
I wake up unable to remember the words to the famous soliloquy . . .
VI Explications
that we had been teaching was a miracle
which mother do I grieve?
vital word: coupled
“the fuzzy contours, the precise outlines, the hardness of forms”
VII Scenes
she didn’t let her tell her that she loved her
diptych: unpainted genre scene with missing apple
some things just are . . .
hallucinations/there’s an evil taking over the world
of owls and men
bubbles in a glass of ginger ale
VIII Reckonings
help me, help us, help me
say the right thing
the single most important gift . . .
what about all of my things?
just the way you left them
her father’s apron and her mother’s gloves
notebooks 1: Dear Mary
notebooks 2: learning, lists, and ledgers
notebooks 3: “Actually, it was Macduff ”
paintings, clothes hangers, pins
Waylaid
Epilogue: R. Cappello, Bio
Appendix: R. Cappello, “What Is Poetry?”
Notes
Illustration Credits
Acknowledgments and Sources
I can’t remember . . .
things were so different at the beginning . . .
posthumous platitude number one: “her suffering is over now” . . .
vital word: inviolable
the feeling of being left behind
vital word: sigh
Imagined Dialogue
do I believe my mother is present? . . .
I have been living in my pajamas more and more . . .
which is worse, the where or the why
it is possible the dying have access to a kind of strength . . .
II Explanations
“They just don’t know”/terminal agitation, terminal restlessness
the recognitions
III Tempos
to begin with, a lost knapsack
to begin with, a book
memories lost or memories gained
the quilting of time out of season
in the beginning was the Fall . . .
for the love of ice cream
I think about the things upon which memory fastens . . .
candor, candid, candescent
IV Unanswerables
my mother’s first experience of death . . .
my mother’s plants are screaming . . .
my brother Joe seems to have access to a kind of joy
“They just don’t know”/ascites
hearing, they say, is the last thing to go
my mother is no longer an earthling . . .
V Dreams
after my mother dies, I dream . . .
after my mother dies, I dream . . .
I dreamt I was in my mom’s apartment . . .
I wake up to the lines of my own obituary
I wake up unable to remember the words to the famous soliloquy . . .
VI Explications
that we had been teaching was a miracle
which mother do I grieve?
vital word: coupled
“the fuzzy contours, the precise outlines, the hardness of forms”
VII Scenes
she didn’t let her tell her that she loved her
diptych: unpainted genre scene with missing apple
some things just are . . .
hallucinations/there’s an evil taking over the world
of owls and men
bubbles in a glass of ginger ale
VIII Reckonings
help me, help us, help me
say the right thing
the single most important gift . . .
what about all of my things?
just the way you left them
her father’s apron and her mother’s gloves
notebooks 1: Dear Mary
notebooks 2: learning, lists, and ledgers
notebooks 3: “Actually, it was Macduff ”
paintings, clothes hangers, pins
Waylaid
Epilogue: R. Cappello, Bio
Appendix: R. Cappello, “What Is Poetry?”
Notes
Illustration Credits
Acknowledgments and Sources
Recenzii
“Cappello demands not so much that we see her mother as that we not look away from her arduous passing. In this intricate filigree of language and occasional bright beads of images, Cappello comes perhaps as close as it’s possible to get to the threshold without crossing over oneself.”
“Few books I’ve read manage to do grief—how it cycles and reaches and gathers and uncovers and archives and wonders and lingers and changes—as beautifully, as compellingly, as this book. And like a good and beautiful book does, Cappello’s memoir makes me think of my own grieving, which is to say, my own loving, anew.”
"Reading Mary Cappello, I feel the physical location of my heart move. It doesn't sit back in my chest anymore but has edged forward, closer to the world. This rearrangement only happens on those rarest of occasions when the reader says to the author, ‘The way you write, think, look, live. . . . I trust you with my life.’”
“A beautiful and devastating work, darkly illuminating, filled with wisdom and sorrow and wonder. Palpable grief and love infuse every page. Cappello is our perfect guide as she traverses with fortitude and grace this most sacred terrain. A devotion like no other. Exceptional.”
“Cappello offers the whole of her mother’s life so we can feel the entirety of her death. Both elegy and homage, Frost Will Come is capacious in its honesty and grief, longing and astonishment.”
“Frost Will Come chronicles the passing of the author’s mother, larger-than-life artist and poet Rosemary Cappello. Cappello’s frank, gorgeous prose mirrors the gritty beauty she finds in the death of this vital spirit. A stunning achievement.”
“Haunting and inspiring, Frost Will Come is a book of humane complexity characterized at every turn by the graceful river of Cappello’s insight and prose.”
“In her searing, searching memoir, Cappello breaks ajar the door to the bardo to reveal that the beings toward which love most radically draws us are themselves irreversibly drawn away. Every page is written from inside that liability. Here, dying becomes a way of knowing, suffering a mode of inquiry, and love a reckoning with oblivion and the profligate generosity of what remains.”
“Few books I’ve read manage to do grief—how it cycles and reaches and gathers and uncovers and archives and wonders and lingers and changes—as beautifully, as compellingly, as this book. And like a good and beautiful book does, Cappello’s memoir makes me think of my own grieving, which is to say, my own loving, anew.”
"Reading Mary Cappello, I feel the physical location of my heart move. It doesn't sit back in my chest anymore but has edged forward, closer to the world. This rearrangement only happens on those rarest of occasions when the reader says to the author, ‘The way you write, think, look, live. . . . I trust you with my life.’”
“A beautiful and devastating work, darkly illuminating, filled with wisdom and sorrow and wonder. Palpable grief and love infuse every page. Cappello is our perfect guide as she traverses with fortitude and grace this most sacred terrain. A devotion like no other. Exceptional.”
“Cappello offers the whole of her mother’s life so we can feel the entirety of her death. Both elegy and homage, Frost Will Come is capacious in its honesty and grief, longing and astonishment.”
“Frost Will Come chronicles the passing of the author’s mother, larger-than-life artist and poet Rosemary Cappello. Cappello’s frank, gorgeous prose mirrors the gritty beauty she finds in the death of this vital spirit. A stunning achievement.”
“Haunting and inspiring, Frost Will Come is a book of humane complexity characterized at every turn by the graceful river of Cappello’s insight and prose.”
“In her searing, searching memoir, Cappello breaks ajar the door to the bardo to reveal that the beings toward which love most radically draws us are themselves irreversibly drawn away. Every page is written from inside that liability. Here, dying becomes a way of knowing, suffering a mode of inquiry, and love a reckoning with oblivion and the profligate generosity of what remains.”