“What was H. not to me? She was my daughter and my mother, my pupil and my teacher, my subject and my sovereign; and always, holding all these in solution, my trusty comrade, friend, shipmate, fellow-soldier. My mistress; but at the same time all that any man friend (and I have good ones) has ever been to me. Perhaps more. If we had never fallen in love we should have none the less been always together, and created a scandal.”
Written as a series of private reflections, this work documents the author's journey through intense sorrow, doubt, and spiritual questioning after the loss of his wife. The narrative moves from raw pain and confusion to a tentative, hard-won acceptance, examining how grief reshapes memory, faith, and the sense of self. It is a candid account of the psychological and emotional landscape of bereavement, offering no easy answers but a profound meditation on love and loss. more
“My husband doesn’t ask for much. He requires a lot, but he doesn’t ask for much.”
“That’s what marriage is, motherhood, except the man doesn’t do you the courtesy of growing up.”
“The nest would never be empty so long as she was in it with him.”