The Still Point of the Turning World

The Still Point of the Turning World by Emily Rapp // 272 pgs

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Like all mothers, Emily Rapp had ambitious plans for her first and only child, Ronan.  He would be smart, loyal, physically fearless, and level-headed, but fun.  He would be good at crossword puzzles like his father.  He would be an avid skier like his mother.  Rapp would speak to him in foreign languages and give him the best education.

But all of these plans changed when Ronan was diagnosed at nine months old with Tay-Sachs disease, a rare and always-fatal degenerative disorder.  Ronan was not expected to live beyond the age of three; he would be permanently stalled at a developmental level of six months.  Rapp and her husband were forced to re-evaluate everything they thought they knew about parenting.  They would have to learn to live with their child in the moment; to find happiness in the midst of sorrow; to parent without a future.

The Still Point of the Turning World is the story of a mother’s journey through grief and beyond it.  Rapp’s response to her son’s diagnosis was a belief that she needed to “make my world big”—to make sense of her family’s situation through art, literature, philosophy, theology and myth.  Drawing on a broad range of thinkers and writers, from C.S. Lewis to Sylvia Plath, Hegel to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Rapp learns what wisdom there is to be gained from parenting a terminally ill child.  In luminous, exquisitely moving prose she re-examines our most fundamental assumptions about what it means to be a good parent, to be a success, and to live a meaningful life.

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This was a sad and poignant read about death and disability. I felt like I was reading a mother’s personal diary detailing her acceptance and grief over the death of her still living child. 

I found Rapp’s perspectives on parenting and death to be refreshing, and it’s easy to empathize with a mother who must grieve what she loves the most. I feel like it was healthy and therapeutic for her to write this book, and I always love seeing new perspectives on death and the meaning of life. Rapp’s personal anecdotes of being disabled were also interesting to read, as well as the connection through that she could have with her son.

It was different from what I was expecting, which was a more biographical approach to her son’s life. While we did get a lot of that (I absolutely adored reading about the little things Rapp loved about her son, the language she used was hauntingly beautiful), it was more so a philosophical exploration of life itself. Rapp showcases a wisdom shadowed by unbelievable grief in a beautiful way, and I’m thankful to have experienced her perspective.