Sunday, January 25, 2009

P. F. Thomése - Shadowchild

I know people who have lost their children, but never have I realized what a nightmare it is. I could not put the book down until it was finished. The heaviness of your dead child, the complete emptiness, the impossibility to understand that she is no more, is captured in the most beautiful way.

The smell of clean sheets, the bedroom window open. A new day.
The sunlight coming in and finding her nowhere."

"But above all she dies in us. There where she has been thought of, there she must die. There where she will be thought of, there she will have to be dead. But it is impossible, and it will remain impossible, not to think of her. At last, therefore, there will be no place left where she has not died."

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