It's wonderful and tragic to kick off the year with a recommendation that rips your heart out, because that's exactly what this memoir by Erika Price does to you. The emotional truth of it, the reality, the unromanticiseation (which is totally not a word, but it should be) comes together beautifully in this short narrative about loss and how, no matter how hard we try otherwise, it so often comes to define us.The Club has burdens. You can’t bring it up, if you’re young; people get far too uncomfortable and sad for you. If circumstances force you to tell someone about the death, you must immediately be reassuring about just how fine and over it you are. You must act like the death wasn’t tragic. You must act like your relationship with your father was healthy and conventional. You must not be visibly annoyed when people cry and complain and mourn the loss of their grandparents or great-grandparents or their fucking dogs and cats. You must not speak of the Dead Dad Club to a non-member. You must not bring someone into the Club if they are not ready. You must not let membership to the Club visibly taint your relationships, lest you become a girl with D-word Issues. That is the worst fate of all.
You can read 'Eventually, We All Become Members of the Dead Dad Club' by Erika Price over at The Rumpus.
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