People disappear when they die. Their voices, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living mempry of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continut to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humour, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.
I thought of you when Claire came downstairs this weekend kind of teary-eyed and said dramatically "one of the babies threw up on me and everybody is laughing, but it's not funny, it's just gross!"
3 comments:
I thought of you when Claire came downstairs this weekend kind of teary-eyed and said dramatically "one of the babies threw up on me and everybody is laughing, but it's not funny, it's just gross!"
HAHAHA!
Did you tell her I can TOTALLY relate!?!
That's awesome! I'm not alone!!
She's beautiful! It's kinda weird to think of you guys having a baby. Good, but weird.
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