Grief in literature.

  In Iris Murdoch's The Sacred and Profane Love Machine,  Monty is grieving the death of his wife, Sophie. Murdoch writes "An awful separateness had come upon him in the later days of Sophie's illness.  He could not bring himself to take his wife in his arms, not (as she thought) because her illness made her hideous: it was that death had already taken hold of her and he could not bear the sense of utter loss which her still-breathing body inspired."  P. 34
     This is another form of avoidance. When 'Jane' lay dying her good friend 'Mary'  told me she would not go to visit her. Her excuse "I want to remember Jane the way she was." What about Jane's needs? Do her needs not count? When my mother was dying, but alert, I brought her life long friend, who was also her sister-in-law, to the hospital so they could say goodbye. These two women, aged 89, shared a poignant farewell informed by their mutual faith. It was one of the most touching conversations I ever witnessed and made possible by my mother's 'good' death allowing for farewells.

    SMALL DELIGHT: Across the street from The Little House is a pond, called a slough in South Dakota. When my parents retired from the farm they bought the house across the street, also across from The Little House, and their back yard met the pond. Dad built a little screen porch at the back of the house overlooking the pond. Mother spent hours on the porch enjoying the pond's wildlife, she lived there 27 years.  Now the pond brings me delight. There are several broods of ducks, both early and late hatches, there. Seeing the ducklings swimming behind their mama is sooooooooo cute. In addition to the ducks there are also geese, grebes, egrets, great blue herons and even an occasional pelican.
   
Takk for alt,

Al

The view from my front yard this morning.