Director of Publishing Alison “Ali” de Groot began her official employment at Modern Memoirs in September 2004. In honor of her 20th anniversary this year, we are presenting a two-part blog series in which we asked de Groot to reflect on two books of her own. In Part 1 below, she discusses Learning to Speak, a bereavement book dedicated to her mother, which de Groot published herself in 1999. Later, in Part 2, we will look into The Reader’s Chair: An Anthology of Memoirs-in-Progress, edited by de Groot and published by Modern Memoirs in 2018.
© 1999 Alison de Groot
Ali de Groot’s mother, Nancy Phillipson de Groot (1932–1974), died when de Groot was 14 years old. In the Introduction to Learning to Speak, de Groot describes the years of silence that followed her mother’s death, and the years it took de Groot to realize what she had gone through after her mother died. Her book came about when, decades later, de Groot joined a “Bereavement Book” writing group facilitated by Kitty Axelson-Berry, who is a writer, editor, and founder of Modern Memoirs.
1. Your book opens with a quote by C.S. Lewis from A Grief Observed: “It doesn’t matter—not much—if my memory of her is imperfect. Images, whether on paper or in the mind, are not important for themselves. Merely links.” Why do these words resonate with you, and how do they reflect your experience with writing this book?
Ali de Groot: Firstly, C.S. Lewis was a favorite author of my late mother’s. She taught me the word “theologian” when I was a child and would have me read aloud to her in bed before I went off to sleep. We read all the Chronicles of Narnia by Lewis, as well as scores of spiritual writings by other theologians my mother admired. Decades later, when I came across C.S. Lewis’ book A Grief Observed, I was riveted because of how raw and honest Lewis sounded in describing his feelings after the death of his wife. It wasn’t a theologian talking, it was a man questioning everything he had ever learned or known or felt.
This particular quote is important to me because memory is indeed imperfect. What is important is to keep the memories alive. My memory of my mother is obviously going to be different from other people’s memories of her, and I had to come to terms with that once I started writing. But my primary goal was first to try to remember her, then to record my memories by writing them down. And I really wanted to be able to talk about her with my young children, who never knew their maternal grandmother.
2. In the Introduction you write, “This project was very, very hard to do at first, and I went slowly and with much anxiety. I had never separated my mother from the death itself, so there was no difference between thinking of her and thinking of aloneness and darkness. I do not exaggerate when I say that fear almost consumed me.” What was it that eventually opened you up, allowing you to overcome your trepidation?
Ali de Groot: It’s hard for me to imagine now, but for decades after my mother died, I never talked about her. Since I was only 14 and it was a sudden, unexpected death, it all became weirdly normal—she was just “gone” and we didn’t talk about her. That sounds horrible and callous to me now, but I think the main reason I didn’t talk is that nobody around me talked about her. This was in the 1970s, and resources for young people around the topic of death and dying were minimal. Plus, in my family culture, death wasn’t much discussed. We all went on with our lives.
What opened me up was the Bereavement Book writing group that Kitty led. It was a small group of just a few people, all of whom had lost a family member, recently or even far in the past (my mother had died 24 years earlier). The workshop offered a safe, tight structure and required setting aside a dedicated time to write weekly, far away from my home life.
The writing assignments sorted themselves into two themes, the first being a tribute to my mother, and the second being a chronicle of my bereavement and breaking the silence which had engulfed me. Starting with the easy exercises and positive memories really helped. One of the assignments was to bring in a picture of the deceased and write a couple of paragraphs about it. For many people this might be a nice activity, but any pictures I had of my mother were stuffed away in a box that hadn’t been touched since 1974. Having just that one task to do (which seemed insurmountable until I did it) became somehow manageable. Baby steps.
“I didn’t even remember much about my mother, or so I thought. Once I started writing, more and more memories came, and the positive memories far outweighed the darkness of loss.”
The workshop was practical, focused, and Kitty was the consummate facilitator. One of the first things I remember her saying to us was, “This is a writing group, not a therapy group, so it might be a good idea to get a therapist on the side.” This I did, and it was a great support because challenging feelings did come up, and I then had a fitting place to work through them. After the workshop was over, I continued writing every week with another group member. (We became very close friends and have always carved out time to write together, even now.) It took another year to finish the book, with the help of a generous designer friend and with production assistance from Kitty.
3. You say that initially yours was a personal bereavement book, written only for you. What changed and made you decide to share it with your family and friends? What did you hope they would gain by reading it? Looking back, how do you think this book has impacted others in your life?
Ali de Groot: I didn’t think this would ever become a book in the first place—just a few handwritten vignettes in notebook. If I had started to imagine other people reading anything, I probably would’ve stopped writing. I didn’t even remember much about my mother, or so I thought. Once I started writing, more and more memories came, and the positive memories far outweighed the darkness of loss. I also found many of her journals in the old boxes and decided to include scans of her own writing in the book. When I realized it was becoming somewhat biographical of my mother, I thought about giving it to family and close friends.
I hoped that family members would also reminisce about my mother, and I even left a chunk of blank pages in the middle of the book for people to write down their own memories. I’ve gotten lots of feedback over the years, ranging from “That’s not the mother I knew!” to “I learned so much about her, and about you.” More recently, I was at an aunt’s funeral and was surprised to see someone had brought the book and set it on the display table along with photos of my late aunt. I’m glad the book has sort of taken on a life of its own.
Front cover and inside page of a daily journal of my mother's, c. 1969
4. In the end, what were the personal rewards of undertaking this project?
Ali de Groot: The biggest personal reward: understanding the phases of grief and having the ability finally to talk about my mother. I can talk about her endlessly now! Hence the title, Learning to Speak. This is a double entendre, because before I was born, my mother developed esophageal cancer and literally had to learn to speak again after surgery. She was able to speak without a larynx and even become a teacher of other laryngectomees, which I didn’t even realize until I started looking back at her life and found a newspaper article about her.
Another invaluable reward was giving a copy of the book to each of my three kids, and hearing back from them now as adults. After all, this was the grandmother they never knew, but they can probably all name her favorite flower (lily of the valley), her favorite state, her middle name, her flaws. And they know more about me. I’ve also given the book to my closest friends, especially my old friends who knew me when I was so bottled up, and I hope they, too, came to understand me better.
5. How did writing this book influence your desire to join Modern Memoirs and pursue the work of helping others to self-publish their life stories and family histories?
Ali de Groot: When I finished the book and, with the help of Kitty, got it into print, I realized a couple of things: firstly, that writing is a deeply cathartic form of self-expression, and secondly, that I could probably do writing and editing as a profession. (I was a college teacher at that time.) So after 9/11 when there was an opening at Modern Memoirs’ nonprofit American Tribute Center for a volunteer writer, I contacted Kitty and told her I was available. That first job was unpaid, but it was a profound experience (I’ll write about that another time) that cemented my commitment to work in this field.
I love my job. I love the mentoring that I’ve gotten from Kitty and from everyone at Modern Memoirs. I love getting to know our clients, authors who all, at some point, seem to encounter struggles during the writing or completion of their books, challenges I often understand. And I can say, hands down, the best and most surprising thing I’ve ever done in my life—besides having children—is writing a book about my late mother.
* * *
For an early blog by Ali de Groot on a related topic, see “Writing and Healing: How Bereavement Became a Book.”
Liz Sonnenberg is genealogist for Modern Memoirs, Inc.