The Light in My Darkness

My husband did not come into 2016 with me. I have written of his death to various institutions in settling his estate, yet his leaving has not sunk into the dark soil of my heart. I still expect to see his face at the window, his step on the deck, his shadow stretched across the lawn as he fills the bird feeder. The loss of him weighs on me. I move through my days like walking through sludge. Always that weight of loss as close as my breath. Only in a tunnel of darkness did I see a pinprick of light.

I was on the Metro carrying And Yet, a collection of  Christopher Hitchens’ work, to give to my son. I happened to start reading an essay about Hitchens becoming an American and became absorbed in his prose. And for those few minutes between the East Falls Church Station and Foggy Bottom, I lost myself and the grief I carry. I awoke to wonder where I was and almost missed my stop.

Reading is my comfort. I find refuge from my life in reading about the lives of others.

So thus far in 2016, I have read The Italian Wife, Becoming Clementine, and listened to Suite Francaise on tape, all about my obsession, WWII.

Also I have read Defending Jacob for my One More Page Books Mystery book group. Although not universally liked by our group, this book about “the murder gene” promoted a lively discussion. Can one inherit the inclination to kill? What do you think?