My resolve of two years ago, evaporated like may New Year’s resolutions: unfulfilled, not accomplished. Maybe I rushed my return, as a tribute to my husband, Fritz, on the first anniversary of our parting. I learned the difficulty of projecting my altered life into a space so small. So much to work through, most of very private, not suitable for public viewing. No words or thoughts came easily.
Now in my third March since his passing, I hold in my hands the book about our changing relationship in the face of his illnesses, both mental and physical. “A Memoir of Parting,” contains a series of dated personal essays, written during our final years together. With blog entries that follow, I will post selected passages from the book, which reveal not only a story of his demise but also of our love: long-standing, deeply treasured and full of God’s grace. Carol
A Memoir of Parting
This book marks the journey Fritz and I took into the murky world of dementia. I sensed the need to keep some kind of balance as his equilibrium was slipping away. Writing has been and continues to be my means of survival—a way to make sense of troubled thoughts. As changes upset our daily lives and our relationship, I tried to express them in words. This book is a string of personal essays marking travels—not to the exciting places we used to visit, but a more pedestrian path leading to the end of the road. (p. 10)
Now in my third March since his passing, I hold in my hands the book about our changing relationship in the face of his illnesses, both mental and physical. “A Memoir of Parting,” contains a series of dated personal essays, written during our final years together. With blog entries that follow, I will post selected passages from the book, which reveal not only a story of his demise but also of our love: long-standing, deeply treasured and full of God’s grace. Carol
A Memoir of Parting
This book marks the journey Fritz and I took into the murky world of dementia. I sensed the need to keep some kind of balance as his equilibrium was slipping away. Writing has been and continues to be my means of survival—a way to make sense of troubled thoughts. As changes upset our daily lives and our relationship, I tried to express them in words. This book is a string of personal essays marking travels—not to the exciting places we used to visit, but a more pedestrian path leading to the end of the road. (p. 10)
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