Writing about bereavement , by Elizabeth Kay
Pinky and Perky We’ve had a pair of pigeons that made our garden their home. They were easy to identify, as one of them had particularly pink feathers, and was inseparable from another one with standard rock pigeon colouring. Pinky and Perky. I only realised that it was the pink one that was the male when he made overtures to another pigeon of exactly the same colouring as his mate, and was thoroughly duffed up as a consequence. He remedied his mistake later, by consummating his marriage very publicly on a neighbouring rooftop. Pigeons mate for life, although they may take another mate if one of them dies. And then Perky disappeared. Pinky seemed completely lost, spending a lot of time sitting in the water bowl and scanning the rooftops. We really felt for him, as he was off his food and couldn’t even be bothered to preen himself. This got me thinking about grief, and how bereavement has affected me over the years. And how well do writers describe it? Not very honestly on the who...