Eaton Hamilton

sketch: Jane Eaton Hamilton 2014

Julian Barnes on grief:

“I do not believe I shall ever see her again.  Never see, hear, touch, embrace, listen to, laugh with; never again wait for her footstep, smile at the sound of an opening door, fit her body into mine, mine into hers.  Nor do I believe we shall meet in some dematerialised form. I believe dead is dead…
I remember, sharply, last things.  The last book she read.  The last play (and film, and concert, and opera, and art exhibition) that we went to together. The last wine she drank, the last clothes she bought.  The last weekend away.  The last bed we slept in that wasn’t ours.  The last this, the last that.  The last piece of my writing that made her laugh. The laat words she wrote herself; the last time she signed her name.  The last piece of music I played her when she came home.  Her last complete sentence.  Her last spoken word.” (from “Levels of Life”)