When a state trooper appeared at Rachel Zimmerman's door to report that her husband had jumped to his death off a nearby bridge, she fell to her knees, unable to fully absorb the news. How could the man she married, a devoted father and robotics professor at MIT, have committed such a violent act? How would she explain this to her young daughters? And could she have stopped him?
A longtime journalist, she probed obsessively, believing answers would help her survive. She interviewed doctors, suicide researchers and a man who jumped off the same bridge and lived.
Us, After examines domestic devastation and resurgence, digging into the struggle between public and private selves, life's shifting perspectives, the work of motherhood, and the secrets we keep. In this memoir, Zimmerman confronts the unimaginable and discovers the good in what remains.
I heard about this book on NPR's Book of the Day podcast & put it on hold that same day. While the circumstances were different when someone I love committed suicide, all of the feelings so beautifully written by the author were almost exactly the same. When the author goes on a mission to interview people that treated her husband, review their last morning together, researching & seeking out specialists in suicide for answers etc, it was so comforting because I did exactly the same & for the same reasons. Reading these feelings & experiences so articulately written was healing & helpful.
I'd caution for anyone reading this that at least for me & possibly for you, reading about the author's journey took me down memory lane of my experience & I was very emotional. I cried about my person, the situation & my journey more than I had for awhile.
She did a good job trying to navigate around the complex subject of suicide, exploring all different types of perspectives and observing how various people coped with the grief of losing people in their lives. I think she makes some valid points and discoveries that can help a wide range of people suffering a loss of a loved one, even if it isn't specifically from suicide. It was quite a journey to see how her perspective on the incident changes as she searches for closure.
Also as someone who lives near Cambridge, it was wild to know exactly the locations that she mentions in the memoir, especially the sight of the tobin bridge.
But there were a few times where the writing just felt like stereotypical dramatic/sappy middle-aged white woman writing. I'm probably just not the target audience but it kinda had me checked out at times... overall a good book tho
Us, After is a brilliant and moving memoir about suicide and its impact, a topic that is widely misunderstood. The utter transparency with which Rachel Zimmerman reflects on the death of her husband and the father of their two daughters is stunning. She honors the family they built together, their love story, and his life while also struggling with – anger, confusion, exhaustion, and the grief she and her daughters experience. I am in awe of the ways in which she unflinchingly writes about all sides of our humanity including the impact of love, loss, devastation and healing in this beautiful memoir. A must read.
This is a Memoir Non-Fiction. This book is well written and covers some hard to read stuff. I lost my Mother do to suicide, but my whole family know we would lose her to suicide. So, we were not shocked. She tried six times before, and we got her help each time. She just never wanted help or to take the meds. I was 20 years old when I got the call about my Mother, but the first time I found her when she tried was when I was 6 years old. It took years for me to be ok, and to talk about it. I did not know if I would be about to read this book, but I found it lovely and touching. I am so sorry that the author had to go through all she did. Sending my love to everyone that suicide has touched.
Us, After is a beautifully written, heart-wrenching memoir that nevertheless instills hope in its readers. I love Rachel Zimmerman's journalistic articles, and her decades-long writing career comes across clearly in the honest, gorgeously poetic writing. But this memoir is so much more than the masterful prose; the protagonist's journey from grief to eventual acceptance will move anyone with a heart. Very much recommend.
This book was on my to read list when I met Paul Zimmerman and his niece Sophie in a dive bar on Atlantic Ave in Brooklyn where Judy and I had gone to play pool. They invited us to join them and the book came up. I bought it that moment. It's a powerful story of grief and mental illness that was undiagnosed. I finished it tonight, the sixth anniversary of my husband's death (from cancer). I devoured this book.
Anyone reading Rachel Zimmerman’s book”UsAfter:A memoir of Love and Suicide “ will not be able to put it down while tears roll down their cheeks. One might ask why would I want that, and the truth is that it’s is such a gripping , poignant true story, that you might not have a choice. You might, as I have, finish it in one sitting. It is not only Rachel's story, but it captures the universality of grief as well as being encyclopedic about suicide. Spoiler alert: In spite of the indelible scars of grief, Zimmerman,goes on to have a fulfilling life with her two children and a new partner.
This is an amazing story of love, pain, tragedy, and ultimately resilience and hope. Zimmerman writes with searing honesty, capturing the full, messy humanity of all the characters, including herself. She tells it as it is, and as it was with an openess that invites us all to talk more openly about the stigmatized topic of suicide. She also shows us it is possible to move forward in the face of unimaginable loss,and how suffering and joy can coexist.
I emerged wiser about life, love, pain and resilience from this raw, honest and completely engaging memoir. It is a true gift to us all in the best way -- you can't put it down, and you emerge from it having gained a little bit more understanding of this incredibly beautiful and yet inescapably painful journey that we call life.
I drew a lot of connections, especially in the “needing to know answers, chasing down every evidence path” - the typical mundane short chapters of lessons in life held me tight. Written beautifully
“I was completely still, mesmerized by the action on stage. Internally, though, I was roiling, trying to quell the inexorable surge of anguish and regret for what she'd lost, while also sensing the pride that rose with her voice: powerful and sweet and pure.”
I’m unfortunately familiar with grief, the memories of those in my life who have died will always be with me. Once I created a grief support group, a place in college for the surprisingly large population who had had a parent die. More recently I spent a few years facilitating a peer support group for children who’d experienced the death of a parent, in some ways a full circle. So grief is not new to me. This book is still a necessary read. The honesty: unvarnished reality of what death leaves behind, nervous admission of the first time life feels alright in the “after”, far more. Zimmerman encapsulates emotions I never thought words could do justice to. For me, she brought the words I’ve sought and the sense of normalcy only the raw truth about grief can elicit. For others I sense she may facilitate a deeper understanding of those impacted by death, if not a way to understand then a way to process the at-times inscrutable behavior of the grieving.
For all that, Zimmerman deserves far more recognition and respect than this book has commanded. This is an important work, don’t let it slip past you and be sure to pass it on.
I'd heard the writer interviewed on public radio, and was intrigued. Then I became aware of a book reading she was giving at a book store near me and I went to the reading. I was further intrigued by what she had to say that night, and I bought her book. It's captivating, and I finished it quickly, but it is not an easy read. Zimmerman is writing about her husband's (Seth) suicide. At age 50, this esteemed, much admired, and tenured professor of robotics at MIT took his life by jumping off a bridge. Rachel & Seth had 2 daughters, who were 8 & 11 at the time. This unimaginable tragedy left Zimmerman alone to explain their father's death to their daughters, and guide them through it while searching for ways for all to cope, manage, and eventually thrive. She does all this with strength and resilience as she takes us on this deeply personal journey. This is a memoir about love, loss, pain, and healing; it took courage for Zimmerman to write it. We see how grief and happiness can co-exist, and we are left with hope.
I did not ever wish to have to read this book. I recently lost my nephew and this clarified things for me as I grope about trying to make sense of life and loss. Heartbreakingly beautiful book. I needed this read, but you don't need to be in a similar position to appreciate this story of love and rebuilding.
I liked the author's exploration of why her husband committed suicide. The grief and learning to carry on was interesting to read (or hear) I think that this book is important for those who have experienced a friend or family member who committed suicide. The only criticism that I can give is that the first third was a bit choppy. It took a while to gather momentum and focus. 3.5 stars
Rachel Zimmerman’s Us, After is as incomparable as it is invaluable. A remarkable, honest portrait of incomprehensible loss and the formidable work of surviving grief, Zimmerman’s memoir unflinchingly examines the aftermath of her husband’s suicide—while also seeking light in the darkness and providing readers a beacon of hope and resilience to see by in their own struggles. It is the grief memoir I have always wanted, and I feel graced to have found it.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
My husband played ultimate frisbee on Tuesdays with Seth for many years. While I never met Seth, I really appreciated Rachel’s transparency learning so much about her, Seth and their daughters. It was heartfelt…difficult at times and very well written.
This book will be read again and again. Oddly, it’s been a comfort to me after my husband took his own life 4+ years ago. Not many people, fortunately, will understand this kind of loss. The author summarized my pain perfectly…a deep sorrow remains.
I was let down after purchasing this book. It sounded so good. But once I got into it, I was extremely turned off by the wife. What a shrew. She’s so inappropriate. I was wincing when reading what she said & how she acted.
This book is like nothing else. I gobbled it in galley form, just as it was entering the publication process -- the last book I've read in a single day since forever. Much as I knew "the story" (Rachel Zimmerman is an old college friend), I never knew what was coming next, or how, or why.
I gotta say: Zimmerman is an unlikely human angel, and this unexpected book tells a singular story of 'survival' after suicide. I say 'unlikely... angel' and 'survival' because she's the opposite of an ethereal wisp who gently rebuilds her life after cataclysm. Instead, when the worst-of-the-worst news hits Zimmerman, she holds on to her corporeal shape and psychic integrity from the get-go in a way that we rarely see in print. Of course she has to move step by step to piece together her life, but she's never numbly enduring her experience. She acknowledges this full-force, full-bodied responsiveness as just a given responsibility to her children; instinctively, it's her only choice, and so she must turn her own firehose back towards the one that has blasted her.
Mother-bear ferocity is not a given response, however; some do not rise. As well, the unique constitutional strength that's fueled Zimmerman's ambitious journalism career is likely at play here, too. Straddling a bit of distance from herself allows her to start searching for answers to the most haunting threads of her story. What was she herself doing in the months prior to her husband's suicide? What were the doctors doing? How is she supposed to trust her intuition now -- as so many of the ensuing decisions demand -- when that critical inner sense once failed her so badly?
A journalistic stance cannot hold forever, though Zimmerman tries valiantly to ride the waves as each new piece of information about her husband's suicide comes forward. At a certain point, however, she knows she's swamped, and there is no proper destination anyway. Continuing on at this point means foregoing the grasping journalistic stance. She's just gotta live. If there are any true tools at hand, she cannot name them.
Even those privileged with access to therapy and 'vacation' hours rarely go mano-a-mano with Terror like this, at the time and place when/where it is happening. Usually, grief and terror get unpacked years after, within the safety of the current timeline as qualifier. Yet in "Us, After," fear and anguish are splayed everywhere at first, with no assignable categories or values, and the truth is they never get fully sorted by the end. Yet thanks to RZ's unquenchable knowledge/survival drive (for herself, her children, and surely her readers too), she keeps stumbling along different avenues until she comes to see the organic pattern between all that is balancing things out, keeping her curious, and driving her onwards. The LOVE in this book's subtitle is not conveyed in memories: LOVE is the after-force that is conjured over and over when you have a fully embodied narrator like Zimmerman who is looking for truth, meaning, and tomorrow.
Listened to this as an audiobook, read by the author herself.
I was at MIT working in the same building as Seth Teller when he died by suicide, along with several other MIT folk in that particular year. The idea of losing a spouse to suicide is one of my worst nightmares so his particular story stuck with me (or maybe it's the other way around?) - that and another story from around the same time where a husband who had seemed so well-adjusted jumped from the second storey of a restaurant out of the blue, stunning his wife and family who were right there.
Therefore I was eager to know more about why it happened, ten years and a few days on, even though I knew the answer could have been there were no warning signs. As it turns out, .
That curiosity assuaged, my attention turned to the message of resilience radiated by the rest of the book. It is unflinching in both her open portrayal of their grief, and also in that Zimmerman actually shows herself in a bad light several times. For example, she reflects on how, as a journalist, she would have unflinchingly covered a suicide; now she shies from the publicity and uses her clout to suppress news stories from getting out. She does not mention being apologetic about her past actions that potentially hurt the families of her subjects. In other instances, she shows herself as controlling, to the extent one time that a daughter threatens to call CPS on her. I think this part especially repelled me as I had just read Ties by Domenico Starnone in which the children mention how much it's their mother's controlling reaction to their father's betrayal that damaged them. However, (a) I admire her courage in telling the story unvarnished, and (b) her children seem to have grown up fairly well-adjusted, which speaks to the quality of her parenting and the support of her (admirably wide) circle.
In that and many other ways, I felt rather distanced from her life with relatively fancy parties (I could never plug into that side of academic culture) and ability to just call up an expert in anything at short notice because of her connections. However, love and relationships and grief are universal, so I could be right there beside her.
Something that surprised me was that this book was not only about suicide, but the ways in which we learn how to go about our most intimate relationships as partners and parents. (That is, our most important bonds, which don’t come with instruction manuals.)
The author had a kind husband who was also a beloved professor at MIT, a prestigious university with a tragically high suicide rate. Perhaps he had undiagnosed bipolar disorder, but she didn’t know it and did not see his death coming.
In earlier sections of the book, Rachel recalls stories from her life with her husband, Seth, as a way of trying to figure out how and why this could have happened.
In one scene, they are enjoying their daughter’s birthday party at a local pizza parlor, when Seth becomes irritated at a comment Rachel has made and he stomps off. “What did I say?” she asks her mom-friends at the party. One of them turns to her and says “Rachel, we all have the same marriage.” Rachel takes this to mean that her marriage is no better or worse than anyone else’s. Sometimes, we simply need to know that we are normal at a moment like this, and it will pass. (It was not an indicator of his suicidality, just a reflection of the ordinary frustrations that pop up even in generally happy partnerships.)
There were many such incidents throughout the book: stories of the fierce support she received from her women friends after becoming widowed, with an occasional abandonment from someone who couldn’t handle the situation; moments of deep connection with her daughters, along with some of their stress-filled fights. Somehow, at times, the author manages to cull hilarity in the aftermath of tragedy.
I love well-told personal stories about women learning to navigate intimacy and motherhood, and that was the surprise this memoir held for me. (The author’s writing has appeared in the “Modern Love” column in The NY Times, and the stylings of that genre came through in this book.)
The book is not graphic, although there were some moments when its subject matter was inevitably heartbreaking to read.
But more broadly, in her search to understand “why” he did it, Rachel Zimmerman (a longtime former journalist at the Wall Street Journal and National Public Radio) rediscovers that telling the story is what heals, both for the writer and the reader, who is lucky enough to be let in on the telling.
This is a book that eventually leads to the unexpected joy of surviving.
Can you say you loved a book about someone's spouse's suicide? Anything I say here will seem trite, so I'm not sure how to put my feelings into words, but I will try.
I don't think anyone can even begin to fathom what it feels like to be notified that your spouse has committed suicide. I am grateful to Ms. Zimmerman for offering some insight into how she and her girls were able to learn to live again. I can appreciate her zeal to find answers for why something like this happens. The conviction that there must have been something that could have prevented this must have been all-consuming, and I am glad the author was able to find some kind of solace eventually (I don't think there are ever any clear-cut answers with something like this).
Suicide needs to be talked about more (instead of swept under the rug, as often happens), and this book is a way for people to educate themselves on the subject.
"Us, After" is a must-read. Look for it on June 30th, 2024, which is, if you read this, a significant day for the author and her family.
Thank you to Edelweiss and the publisher for an early copy in exchange for my review. You can also find me on Instagram.
Us, After wrestles vigorously and revealingly with the act of weaving of life into narrative. Zimmerman embraces the knots and webs inherent in this process – the ways in which our own stories are inextricably intertwined with those of our parents, our kids, our partners and friends – and turns these tangles into art. (I couldn’t help but think of the recurring questions Lin-Manuel Miranda posed in Hamilton: “Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?”)
Like the best in its genre, this memoir manages to richly evoke the specifics of its narrator’s experience, while proving profoundly relatable. Indeed, we all experience turning point moments when our lives lose their through-line. Moments when the destabilizing shock of the unexpected exposes the masquerade of coherence that we all depend on: the linear flow of chronological time, the structuring force of our mundane daily rhythms, the seeming continuity of living in our dynamic bodies. Zimmerman has journeyed well beyond the safe shores of coherence and this memoir weaves together the threads she has collected on her return voyage. Her arrival, at a transformed shore, provides a vital testament to the power of love for meaning-making, and ultimately for survival.
A stunning read. How can a family ever heal itself after something like this? It seems unthinkable to pick up the pieces after such a tragedy, and yet, the love this mother has for her daughters and that she still feels for her husband, their father, is so great that they find their way forward into a new and dare I say even more beautiful life than before. I cried along with this family as they grieved and rejoiced with them when they overcame. It's a story of impossibility and yet, it happens in vivid detail. Rachel is such a gorgeous writer that she invites her readers into every experience along with her; you're feeling and living it all right alongside her. There are Brooklyn streets, Wellfleet beaches, and Cambridge homes that I will never forget because of this family.
I never thought I would be writing a review recommending a book that touches the subject of suicide but I am. I teach memoir writing, and I tell my students that memoir is, in short, telling a story of "you used to be this, now you are this, and the memoir is telling us how you changed." Us, After is that, 100%. Every page leaves you hanging, and then glad you read it.