“So many things become crucial when you attempt to examine an event in retrospect and have the blueprint in front of you, an event that, moreover, consists of only a few aimlessly floating shards. You have to add common sense and a good deal of imagination. At times, I can hear their voices, but only faintly. They encourage me, or they reproach me, saying ‘that’s not at all how it was’. That’s not what really happened.”

i wish i had the right words to capture the range of emotions i experienced while reading this book. i’m not completely put together but something about this discussion of time and memory and language, of its impermanence, of its unreliability, fickle nature have created a sense of urgency for me to get my thoughts down as soon as possible. the way it was written, with intentionality and diligence and love, not to mention the rhythm of the sentences, the snippets of transcribed interviews worked so well in drawing me (the reader) into the conversation as well. this was personal and intimate and vulnerable and beautiful. i can hear her voice through these pages as if i am listening to the recordings myself. there is an underlying tension, the conflict between the restlessness of the father’s final days and the peace of his passing that i had the privilege of struggling through, that put me in touch with my own grief and longing. there is an illusion of having understood this experience, these people, but simultaneously, upon closing the book, the realisation of never having done so. i experienced my own memory as a tangible, second person living in my body with me, and it was sobering, tormenting, heartwarming. i’m so thankful this life, however little and however unpromised, is mine.

thank you.