Yesterday, I read "The Jilting of Granny Weatherall by Katherine Anne Porter. It's a fictional stream-of-consciousness depiction of the last day in an eighty year-old lady's life. Although there are some dark parts to the story (the ending is particularly fatalistic), I find much of the story uplifting, but sad.
Granny Weatherall is struggling with her memories; the past keeps drifting into her present. By the end, it is clear that, although she believes she's communicating with her children clearly, no one around her understands what she's saying. Meanwhile, they are all struggling with her imminent death (especially the daughter she currently lives with).
I couldn't read it without crying. I had to stop several times to compose myself and and try again. Today, while editing it, I lost my composure again, shedding tears and taking in ragged breaths for a character who never actually existed.
It felt good.
Stories like this allow for a purging of the emotions that build up within us. This story brought to mind not only the deaths of my own grandmothers, but also my fears of losing my memories and my grip of reality. Experiencing pieces of those thoughts and feelings while reading this story helps me to confront them and process them, giving me a chance to incorporate them into who I am as a person.
This is what great literature can do, and should do. This is why I love sharing great works from our past. We are not alone in our experiences; we part of a greater race of humanity.