The day I learned my wife was dying
I went to read about volcanic eruptions,
earthquakes, fire, bloody war, and murder.
I wanted to discover the most awful, because
I knew her death would be worse than that;
and even crueler would be her absence, not
for a day or a year. It meant not coming back.
That was what I couldn’t imagine. How many
days in Never? How many times would we
hear a car and think, That’s her, or hear
the phone ring and feel suddenly happy,
only to grasp it was basically nobody,
and each burst of knowing would be one
little death, and they will happen all day.
The Voracious Bibliophile 