journal d'une transition

1396

In the summer, R had passed away. It had been a hellish experience, for him, for her, and for their few close friends. C only told me about it all by instalments, and I came to know the whole story of his passing only much later. But now she was grieving, and struggling to adjust to this solitary life – she who, in her entire life, had somehow never spent a single day alone! She was determined to see herself through the stages of mourning and grieving, but she had most trouble with the guilt part of it – she was assailed by misgivings about her own conduct, her own severity, her own indifference to what she now saw must have been a dreadful torment for R; this was quite absurd, of course, as she had been giving of herself way beyond what one could ever expect of any life-companion, and her own strength and love for life had carried him despite himself for many years; every one around them had come in time to the same conclusion: that it was she who needed protection and support from the manic, possessive, ever darker cycle of depression and euphoria that R had clamped onto her, day after day, night after night, doing nothing but waiting for her, sucking on her, living off her and wanting her to yield and let go and die with him… I would soon have to go again and be with her a little while.

The year 2003 ended.

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