“All this to say: I am forty-three years old. I may yet live another forty. What do I do with those years? How do I fill them without Lexy? When I come to tell the story of my life, there will be a line, creased and blurred and soft with age, where she stops. If I win the lottery, if I father a child, if I lose the use of my legs, it will be after she has finished knowing me. "When I get to Heaven", my grandmother used to say, widowed at thirty-nine, "your grandfather won't even recognize me.” IfsYearsMayChildrenStoriesUseAgeUsedThreeFatherWinningHeavenLosesLinesKnowingLegsFinishedNineThirtyGrandmotherFortyThree YearsGrandfatherMy GrandmotherLotteryStory Of My LifeThree Year OldsWidowed Book:The Dogs of Babel Source: The Dogs of Babel
“The conclusion I have reached is that, above all, dogs are witnesses. They are allowed access to our most private moments. They are there when we think we are alone. Think of what they could tell us. They sit on the laps of presidents. They see acts of love and violence, quarrels and feuds, and the secret play of children. If they could tell us everything they have seen, all of the gaps of our lives would stitch themselves together.” IfsThinkingChildrenPlayMomentsTogetherPresidentSecretOur LivesViolenceDogAccessConclusionWitnessGapsQuarrelsLapActs Of LoveStitchesFeuds Book:The Dogs of Babel Source: The Dogs of Babel
