“Already, less than a month after her death, I can feel the slow, insidious beginning of a process that will make the H. I think of into a more and more imaginary woman. Founded on fact, no doubt. I shall put in nothing fictitious (or I hope I shan't). But won't the composition inevitably become more and more my own? The reality is no longer there to check me, to pull me up short, as the real H. so often did, so unexpectedly, by being so thoroughly herself and not me.”
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
“If you ever lose someone dear to you, never say the words they're gone. They'll come back.”
“The mourning process can feel like going through a carwash without a car.”
“Let darkness keep her raven gloss: Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss”