Life Lessons from a Hawk
Photo by Pete Nuij/Unsplash
On Sunday, I went to see the new film version of H is for Hawk, Helen Macdonald’s brilliant memoir about her obsession with Mabel, a goshawk she becomes unhealthily preoccupied with in the midst of crippling, life-shattering grief. If it sounds like a tough watch, well, I’m afraid it is. Having read (and loved) the book, I knew what I was letting myself in for, but also knew it would be powerful and moving, which it was. (I also got to hang out with my son and soon-to-be daughter-in-law, so that was a lovely bonus).
In the film, Helen becomes obsessed with goshawks after losing her beloved father, ‘The only person in the world who really understands me,’ she says in her tearful, poignant eulogy at his funeral. So it’s a story about love, for the people closest to us. And passion for the natural world, embodied by the beautiful but also rather terrifying Mabel, a creature honed by evolution into the perfect hunting machine. A cuddly, comforting pet she is not.
I think it’s also a story about neurodivergence. Macdonald has an ADHD diagnosis and clearly embodies that neurodivergent passion for and obsession with the natural world. I remember hearing the British naturalist and campaigner, Chris Packham, speak about his youthful obsession with peregrine falcons, admitting that as an autistic person this obsession was completely overwhelming, a gripping fascination impossible to understand for neurotypical folk. In H is for Hawk, Helen retreats from the world, shunning her family and closest friend, her academic career falling apart as her whole world shrinks to a tiny, hawk-shaped point.
Learning to live with grief
I have often written about losing my own father, 34 years ago. My new book is, in part, a memoir about this life-shattering loss and the long, hard road back to the peace of mind I (mostly) now possess. And one of the things I have learned is that, like Helen, the idea that we ‘move on’ from or ‘get over’ our grief is neither helpful nor true. Perhaps a better way to describe it would be learning to live with the grief, finding a way to coexist with it as we continue with our lives.
As I write this, and think about my dad, I feel a pang of sadness rise up in my chest and my eyes are moist. And this is as it should be – it’s healthy to feel sad when we lose someone so fundamental to our lives. In a way, I like the sadness, because it connects me to him. And although my dad was a very tricky person, so it’s not the kind of pure, heartbroken loss Helen feels about her dad, my father was also funny and fiercely loving, so I do miss him very much.
Learning to coexist with grief – whether simple or complex – is one of the life skills we all must learn. We will also lose people we love – that’s a fundamental part of living a human life. The Buddha had much to teach us about this, highlighting the impermanence that is the essential quality of all things, animals, people, planets, galaxies – nothing is fixed, or permanent. Everything is in a state of flux and change, all the time, so our suffering increases exponentially when we hold on too tight, wanting to be in control 100% of the time, trying and failing to keep things exactly as they are.
And that’s true of my grief, which has ebbed and flowed over the years, becoming smaller and more bearable with the passage of time. So if you are struggling with grief right now, or the loss of something profound and important, please remember this – it gets easier, with enough time. Time is a great healer is such a cliché but, like all clichés, it also contains wisdom and truth, for most people and most forms of suffering. (Of course, some things do not get better with time, which is when we need loving, skilled help to process the pain).
And if you’re feeling something unbearable, when it’s still fresh and raw and seems like the grief is so huge, so overwhelming that it will never get better, trust me that it will. Tiny bit by tiny bit, the rawness of it transforms into something bearable, copeable with, more of an everyday sadness that shrinks until instead of filling your whole heart, every waking second, it’s possible to live your life alongside it.
In the film, Helen’s friend quotes Julian of Norwich, to comfort her: All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.
So simple but so true. I hope it brings a little comfort to you too.
Love,
Dan ❤️
Enjoying Dan’s blog? Please make a small donation to support his work – all donations received will go to help Dan offer low-cost therapy or free resources to those who need them. Thank you 🙏🏼