I feel the same black shadow that always comes on the heels of a memory of my father: the acrid smoke of unfairness, the knowledge that the parent I wish was still here is gone.
This is the other kind, the kind that comes because the things that have happened to you are actually just unbelievably, heartbreakingly sad.
It feels strange to flirt. It’s like being dropped into a foreign country when you are not fluent in the language. But even then, you can get by on gestures. On nods and shakes of your head. You can build your own language, until one day you dream in it.
But. I could bring her the memory of the ocean, but I couldn’t take away the sound of the heart monitor. I could give her the coastline, but only as much as could fit in a room. I could make her a mermaid, but she couldn’t go back to the sea. That’s why I’ll move heaven and earth for my clients. To make sure they get that last heart’s desire. That there’s nothing they haven’t had a chance to finish, before they leave. –.
How wonderful it has been to have been alive, I thought. How wonderful, and how sad.
If marriage is a yoke meant to keep two people moving in tandem, then my parents were oxen who each pulled in a different direction, and I was caught squarely in the middle.
No, the point is you can do as the Romans do all you want, but it don’t mean the Emperor will let you into his palace.
She of all people knew that what you thought you would do in a given situation didn’t mean a thing until you found yourself actually facing it.
God forbid Ms. Mina had to spread the peanut butter on her own sandwich bread.
If there is one thing I’ve learned while doing the business of death, it’s that it comes as a surprise, even in hospice.
Part of it was because I was bewildered and embarrassed that I had reached this point – as if I could no longer mark the spot where I stopped being an intelligent, confident woman. And part of it was because, in spite of everything, I loved him more than I had ever loved anyone else – and I thought that meant that I might be able to change him.
When someone with a terminal disease can’t stop fearing the future, it’s comforting to look to the past. We tend to forget that we were all young, once. And that there was a time when we had beginnings, instead of endings.
Where do you think she is now?” There are all kinds of answers to that question, and no one is more right or wrong than another. So I told her what I knew for certain. “I don’t know,” I said, and I gestured toward the body. “But she’s not in there.
Following directions is so much easier than staring the unknown in the face.
But there’s always a scar. Even if it’s not right across your belly, it’s in your head somewhere – the brand-new knowledge that you weren’t invincible. I think that changes you for the long haul.
It’s not a replacement; it’s more like an echo.
Our bodies are just what hold us together, you know. They’re not who we really are. Everyone leaves them behind, eventually.
That’s why I love art,” I say. “When you study the provenance of a piece, you’re seeing history. You learn what people wanted future generations to remember.
I don’t know about Jamie, but I understand doing something you know you shouldn’t be doing, and knowing at the same time it’s not wrong.
My whole life,” Felix murmurs, “is her whole life.