Last night, I finished reading Kelly Corrigan’s memoir, The Middle Place. “The middle place” refers to a the space where you feel caught between you own family – in her case her husband Edward and their young daughter Georgia and Claire – and her parents. In the context of this discussion, Corrigan shares her diagnosis and treatment of breast cancer as well as her father’s later-diagnosed bladder cancer. She details her struggles to deal with her fears and anger about her own disease, while trying to assist her father, who she dearly loves, through his fight with his cancer. The honesty of Corrigan’s approach – many reader reviewers find her bratty and immature – is key to her realness. She is not afraid to admit the irrational and/or selfish feelings she experiences. Nor does she eliminate the ugliness and harsh nature of life with cancer. I found myself putting the book down so I could dry my tears and gather myself before moving on. I could relate to many of the feelings and fears of this book.
After finishing The Middle Place, I read Corrigan's short second memoir, Lift. Lift is Corrigan's letter to her daughters. Every parent fears the loss of a child, but to Corrigan (and myself) the loss of a parent, specifically a parent of young children, is her nightmare. As a mother diagnosed with cancer when her daughters were very young (3 & 1, I believe), Corrigan has been forced to contemplate this reality beyond the “shutter to think” that I have often felt. She writes of love, risk, loss, memory, time, and with intimacy and honesty. I loved it as much as The Middle Place and may actually be inspired to keep the journal I always said I would keep for Georgia. We’ll see.
