I need them and they need me to need them
Let her be with her memories. Better that than be aware of this reality.
After a lifetime's independence– yes, selfish independence as my daughter would rightly claim – I am terrified of being reduced to childhood once more, to helplessness, to seas of confusion from which the cruel lucid intervals poke up like rock shoals.
Some things I can never forget. I must not. Otherwise what do I have left?
Wherever you look there is so much loss and folly to contemplate.
I've grieved enough for his life cut short and for mine for running on for so long with so little in it. It's weakness now, but I suppose I am crying out of a general sense of loss. Maybe I am mourning for the human condition.