Pack Up the Moon

“Dead. The word sounded exactly like what it was. Hard. Flat. Ugly and cold.”

In this short paragraph, Josh comes abruptly back to reality after seeing reminders of his wife in their apartment and in his dreams. The short, staccato rhythm of death’s description mirrors Josh’s jarring transition back to reality when he remembers his wife is gone. The descriptors create a multi-sensory experience in which one can not only visualize but also feel the chill and texture of death.

“As he followed the instructions, mixing his wife with the additive and soil provided by the living urn company, he was almost cheerful. He could picture her coming in. ‘What are you doing, hon?’ 

‘I’m planting your tree.’

‘Oh! Cool! Make sure the roots aren’t too squished.’

‘You got it, babe,’ he said aloud.”

Josh speaks to his deceased wife while planting her ashes, indicating his intense connection to her at this moment. The apostrophe directed at Lauren generates a dramatic and emotional effect, showing his sense of loss and grief. The urn, replete with ashes and beginnings of a dogwood tree, symbolizes their love and underscores a central theme of the novel, the Immortality of Love.

“Seagulls were lovely. Lauren had never understood why people called them rats of the sky (pigeons held that title, in her opinion). No, seagulls were impressive, flying like no other, diving, fishing, bobbing on the water. Calm and fearless. If she had to pick a Patronus, seagull would be in the running. Maybe part of her experience in the Great Beyond could be seagull-for-a-day.”

Lauren’s admiration of seagulls establishes them as a symbol of health and escape from her terminal illness; they have both physical abilities and a mindset that Lauren would like to have both in life and in death. The term “Patronus” alludes to the guardian that exudes protective forces against the destructive Dementors in the Harry Potter series. Through this reference, Lauren implies she would like to fight her illness by taking on the admirable qualities of seagulls.

“Before Lauren, he’d been a loner, sure, but it had been by choice. Now, it felt like the sun had fallen out of the sky and the world was a wasteland of gray. He had to turn away from couples in the park or on the street. When his phone showed 183 texts, and his email inbox held 624 unread messages, he didn’t bother looking at them. None of them was from the one person he wanted.”

After Lauren’s death, Josh reverts to his old self rather than growing, and the description of his evasive behaviors underscores the intensity of Josh’s withdrawal from others. Added together, the number of texts (1+8+3) and the number of emails (6+2+4) both yield 12, which symbolizes the number of months Lauren will remain with Josh after her death through her letters.

“The whole world stops when a young person dies. At least, the world you live in. 

At first, everyone you know rallies around you, stunned and grieving, milling around. The solidarity of loss binds people together. No one can imagine moving forward. No one wants to. Stop all the clocks, as the poem instructs. 

And time does seem to stop. No one in your world can ever see being happy again. It’s an impossibility. Nothing will be the same. Nothing ever should be the same. The world is ruined by her death.”

The absolutes “everyone” and “no one” in Chapter 11’s opening paragraphs underscore the universality of grief as a human experience. Similarly, the intentionally negative language (no one, nothing, impossibility, ruined)—particularly “no one” repeated with use of anaphora—underscores the terrible mark death leaves on the living. Higgins quotes an excerpt from the final stanza of the poem “Funeral Blues” by British American poet W.H. Auden, which inspired the name of her novel, to emphasize mourners’ struggle with understanding time and maintaining presence in the wake of death.

“Harder. Harder. The hiss as he punched the bag turned into exhalations of ha! ha! Sweat poured off his body. The exhalations turned into words—No. No. No. No. Then, into curse words so foul and filthy he should’ve been ashamed. But he wasn’t. He was furious.She shouldn't have died. She should not have died, goddammnit, and the motherfucking idiotic way-behind-the-ties motherfucking healthcare system fucked her over and left her for goddamn dead and had the motherfucking nothing, nothing, nothing to offer her, the stupid sonfoabitch asshole fucking shit, shit shit fuck.”

Josh’s rapid, raging language in his red-out contrasts sharply with the even-tempered, loving Josh that readers see throughout the book. The curses in this passage mirror his repeated hitting of the bag. The density of curses at the end of Josh’s outburst indicates a mounting emotional catharsis, which ends with an italicized “fuck.” The use of anaphora throughout underscores Josh’s intense emotional state, giving the reader a glimpse into his grief made manifest as rage and despair.

“Of course, they’d cried together.But mostly, they hadn’t. They’d made the most of her time. They really had. Their marriage had been so short, but so happy. Yawning terror combined with utter bliss. Their beautiful catastrophe.”

This passage uses antithetical statements to describe the nature of Josh and Lauren’s marriage with opposing parallel structures, such as “so short, but so happy.” The memorable effect deepens the reader’s understanding of their short relationship, which is described as paradoxical because their marriage was both positive and negative at once; Josh calls it both terrible and blissful, beautiful yet catastrophic. These dichotomies underscore the tragic brevity of their relationship and the emotional turmoil after Lauren’s diagnosis with IPF.

“But his wife was right. The sadness shouldn’t cancel out what had been so bright and full and beautiful. Just because the cherry blossoms would fall didn’t mean you should mourn them on the tree.”

Higgins uses the metaphor of cherry blossoms falling from a tree to symbolize the transient nature of life. The falling and sadness contrast with brightness, fulness, and beauty, underscoring the importance of preventing sadness from overshadowing the joys in life. The imagery addresses the human tendency to focus on sadness in life and offers a message of hope and resilience in the face of life’s challenges. Finally, the rosy color of the cherry blossoms incorporates the motif that most closely connects Josh with love.

“I think these dreams are reassurances that my dad will be with me when I die. So I’m not alone, okay, honey? And you know I’ll be watching over you. I’m safe and sound, just like when I wrote this.”

Lauren’s opinion of dreams explains the connection that the motif of dreams and daydreaming facilitates throughout the novel. Dreams, therefore, help Lauren reassure Josh of the Immortality of Love—a key theme in Pack Up the Moon—and that she will live on in Josh’s dreams after her death.

“So. Lauren had obviously sensed death was coming, but never said a word. Lauren lived in the moment more perfectly than anyone he’s ever known, and she still managed to write to everyone she loved for when she was gone. Only she could've been that generous, that thoughtful, spending her time on earth so the people left behind would have something from her.He would never find anyone like her again. He would never try. Once you’d had a love like that, it would be futile to try to replicate it. Everything else would be a hollow imitation.Was this acceptance?”

The single-word sentence “so” indicates Josh didn’t previously know that Lauren authored letters to others, which only intensifies the pain of losing her. By the end, love and Lauren are synonymous, evident in his seamless transition from saying “her” to “love/it.” Though Josh does not think he will ever find love again, the subjunctive mood across a tricolon of “would” statements hints that Josh may not do as he says in the future.

“He’d had—Was it true? He’d almost had fun tonight. He’d punched someone. He had clothes that Lauren hadn’t bought and had never seen, and for some reason, that made him feel better. And most of all, he was fairly sure he had a new friend.‘Pretty sneaky, hon,’ he said, and then he was asleep.”

Josh doubts his own reality when he asks himself a rhetorical question and then affirms it with a rising tricolon of things he accomplished. Josh separates gaining a friend from his other actions, underscoring its importance and showing that he is experiencing Grief as a Path to Personal Growth and The Healing Power of Interpersonal Connections, two of the thematic lessons Lauren hopes to teach Josh through her letters. In an apostrophe, Josh brings Lauren to life, demonstrating for the first time that her suggestions are, indeed, working to heal him.

“This would be a process, she realized. There’d be curves and veers and straight long stretches, and that was normal. They got to be scared and furious and happy and grateful, and sometimes they could be all of those things at the same time.”

Lauren’s thought process about her impending death underscores the paradoxical nature of grief that accompanies loss: It can yield positive and negative feelings, and those feelings are not mutually exclusive. Lauren frames the process as a journey or road, evident in her description of shapes and turns a path may take. The polysyndeton throughout slows the rhythm of Lauren’s thought, emphasizing each state that one may feel while experiencing grief and loss.

“She didn’t want to be known as Dying Lauren or Terribly Sick Lauren. She didn’t want to start a YouTube channel or a foundation […] She didn’t want to document her illness…she wanted to think about living. Yes, IPF was a big part of it now, but there was no way she was going to post pictures of herself on oxygen to ‘inspire’ anyone.”

Lauren accepts her condition and emphasizes her opinion on how life ought to be lived by preceding it with a description of things she doesn’t want, underscoring the difference between living and recording life. This reveals Lauren’s frustration at the modern obsession with documenting personal moments. Here, Lauren implies that her legacy should—and will—be tethered to her identity and wisdom rather than her illness and how others perceive her.

“‘It’ll get better,’ his mother said, staring at his now-calloused, reddened knuckles. ‘I know it doesn’t seem like it, but it’ll get easier, honey.’ He didn’t see how that was possible. Lauren had been the center of everything, it seemed, and now instead of her, there was a black hole with ragged, sharp teeth, gnawing at everyone who loved her, eating them like a snake eats a hapless field mouse, in gulps and fits.”

Josh remains stuck in the anger stage of his grief, evidenced by his hands that are reddened and calloused from frequent use of his punching bag. In a run-on sentence, Josh mixes metaphors to describe life without Lauren hole of grief has metaphorically replaced Lauren, and grief—the black hole—is also like a snake desperate to eat. The successive short clauses punctuate the pain and drama of the scene, which Josh vividly describes through sensory imagery.

“No. Bite me. This was no gentle faint, no coughing fit, this was a battle, and she would fight it viciously, fight the suffocation, fight the grayness. No. No. I am not dying.”

The action builds with each clause in rapid succession, omitting almost all conjunctions to build suspense. This reveals Lauren’s determination to fight, as emphatic “no”s punctuate the dramatic scene, underscoring the intensity of Lauren’s commitment to survive.

“‘You came back.’ ‘I’ll always come back, honey.’ Then she pulled him closer and slid his shirt off his shoulders, unbuckled his belt and pulled him onto her, falling back onto the bed. ‘I missed you so much,’ he said. ‘I know, Josh. You’ve been amazing. So brave and good.’ ‘You can be dead if you come back like this, okay? I don’t mind, as long as I can see you.’”

In a dream, Josh imagines Lauren is alive, though, in reality, she is dead. He speaks to her with awareness of her realized death, creating tragic irony in the scene. Higgins emphasizes touch throughout the encounter, using imagery through this sense in particular to bring the dream to life for Josh. Lauren’s affirmation that she’ll always come back underscores the motif of dreaming, which connects Josh and Lauren after she passes.

“When was the final time they’d been? What was the last time he’d bought a coffee for his wife, such a small thing, but so precious? It would never happen again. He wished someone had told him. ‘Hey, pal, your wife will die soon, so this is the last time you’re gonna buy her a coffee. Savor the moment, okay?’ He wished he’d been able to know all the last times so he could have enjoyed them, taken in every detail, every molecule of each moment. The last time they made love. The last time she laughed. The last time they held hands while walking.”

Josh’s rhetorical questions underscore the intensity of his emotions as he completes a mundane task. Josh’s wish for omniscience is ironic, however, given that he doesn’t believe in an all-knowing power and is skeptical about the medium, who may be a conduit to share such information and whom he is en route to see when he stops at Dunkin’.

“All signs were pointing to doom. First, I caught a cough from one of the little germ sponges at the Hope Center, because I’ve been volunteering, reading and doing art projects. Anyways, I had this cough for a month. Then I apparently lost six pounds (coughing burns lots of calories) and had to have my dress tightened.”

This letter Lauren writes to her father is the last before she is diagnosed with IPF (her first letter to him post-diagnosis opens Chapter 22). The cough preceding her wedding day foreshadows the struggle with breathing to come after Lauren’s diagnosis with IPF. This quote also helps make Lauren’s altruistic nature clear through her recounting the work she does at the Hope Center—a place that will also be a formative force in her and Josh’s lives.

“There were little irritants, of course. When Josh was immersed in a project, he’d apparently lose his sense of hearing and she’d have to wave a hand in front of his face to get him to say hello to his mom. He relied on her to do everything social in their lives, whether it was going to a movie on a Friday night or deciding how to spend Christmas. He didn’t have friends of his own—not really, not like she did, and sometimes she wished he had a monthly poker game so she could have a night alone in the apartment.”

A rare negative reflection from Lauren expands her relationship with Josh and offers a more realistic, accessible glimpse into her character by deviating from her loving tone in the letters, where she focuses on Josh and their love. Instead, Lauren frames Josh as her foil by drawing attention to his loner tendencies and intense focus on work.

“‘What’s on your mind?’ His mom asked the second he closed the door. ‘Was it their new grandchild?’ 

‘No. Did that bother you, though?’

‘No,’ she lied. ‘It’s wonderful. Why would it bother me?’

They stared at each other a minute, the subject of children lurking between them. You can talk about your feelings, you know, Lauren would say. Then again, this was his mother. Feelings hadn’t been discussed a lot. 

What the hell? ‘Of course. I’m sad Lauren and I didn’t have kids,’ he said. 

‘Well. That would've been irresponsible given her condition.’ She looked at the floor to avoid his eyes. Logic had always been her go-to response for anything. Josh said nothing.”

After the Kims share that they are expecting another grandchild, Josh and his mother’s conversation reveals a shift in their previously established dynamic. While Josh deviates from his mother’s comfort zone, logos, and opens the door to an emotional conversation, his mother stays true to her character and defers to a practical explanation for Josh’s emotions rather than leaning into pathos. In conversation, Josh overcomes his hesitation to share his feelings and, in doing so, shows Grief as a Path to Personal Growth.

“It was, he thought, a little bit like him. Awkward on the outside, yet lovely within, if you could put in the work. The house was to Josh as Josh had been to Lauren—needing an overhaul, but full of potential.”

Josh likens himself to the house he purchases in a simile, which brings him joy by connecting him to Lauren. The analogy, however, demonstrates Josh’s awareness of his growth through grief, as he describes himself as a work in progress.

“Josh stood and faced the photo of his wife, his heart gripped in a vise. ‘Lauren Rose Carlisle Park,’ he said, ‘I call your name as the year changes, and the day on which you died has come. I will love you forever and will never forget your love, as big and wide as the heavens. In your honor, I humbly offer you this meal.’ Then he knelt in front of the table, looking at her picture for a minute, then bowed so his forehead touched the cool floor.”

When Josh holds a jesa ceremony to honor Lauren one year after her death, he connects meaningfully not only with Lauren but also with his stand-in father, Ben Kim, by adopting a Korean cultural practice and leaning on Ben for support in executing it successfully. In doing so, he experiences The Healing Power of Interpersonal Connections. Josh’s apostrophe to Lauren reinforces the Immortality of Love, a central thematic message of the novel. Josh controls his emotions throughout the ceremony, as evident through the metaphor of a vise clamping his heart.

“Being on his own wasn’t what he wanted anymore. It was too lonely. He didn’t want to revert to that dorky, solitary workaholic Lauren had dated. He wanted to be more. Loving her, and losing her, had changed him, and he didn’t want to go backward.”

Josh has nearly completed his transformation into a stronger, better connected and supported person. Josh’s articulation of his own growth highlights the realization of Lauren’s legacy in her letters, and this strengthens his resolve to continue on his path of personal growth.