Sometimes I'm very bad at choosing books. I read this one, for instance, because I saw a nice photo of someone reading it and the title sounded promising. I had not read anything by Didion before, except an article on her, I knew nothing about the book, I jumped right in.
And then it struck me. Why am I reading a book about someone who's grieving the death of her husband when I should be very much enjoying the company of my playful baby girl and read something optimistic and fun? Why on earth is this the second book
in which someone mourns the death of a spouse I read within months?
I've got no answer and the truth is I read the book in like no time, given the circumstances. Because I liked it. Because yes, the woman grieves and mourns and reads medical journals to find answers to countless questions, but she eventually finds healing and understanding and comes to peace with her controlling self (very much with the help of literature, just like Rob found his peace through music).
There isn't much to do when you're done with the book. Hugging my husband and daughter and thanking God for being with them here and now was it for me.