"I remember and then forget what day it is. I remember it's the month of May and then forget. The hours skip ahead but minutes often move slowly."
"I have trouble breathing. My heart beats too fast, not all the time, in bursts. I have pains between my ribs, sometimes intense."
"A pile of unopened condolence letters and cards lie on the red table in the dining room. I cannot bear to open them. Not today."
"I open the letters, but I don't always understand what I'm reading. The short, kind messages are best."
The author reflects on the death of her husband, Paul Auster, who passed away from lung cancer. She describes the emotional turmoil and disorientation following his death, struggling with time perception and physical symptoms of grief. Memories of their life together haunt her, and she grapples with the reality of living alone. The process of dealing with condolence letters becomes a challenge, as she finds it difficult to engage with the messages of sympathy. The experience of loss profoundly affects her daily life and sense of self.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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