Diary of a Widower

Daily entries by a husband, who stayed behind with his two sons

‘This is the perfect life’

FRIDAY, May 28 – Eamonn wakes me up. He has a drawing in his hand. For me. There are four people and two animals at the top of a hill and Papa has his arm over Mom’s shoulder. Big brother has his arm over his little brother’s shoulder. On the left the cat, on the right the dog. ‘This is a perfect life,’ Eamonn explains. Tears come to my eyes and I go off to look for a frame for the drawing.

Long after midnight – the guests have departed and the house is empty. The dishwasher is doing its work. At this ungodly hour, Elsa went to the end of the street, did her duty and trotted back. Long enough, said her sleepy-eyed look. I couldn’t agree more. It was a good party: friends, singing, music. Eamonn was exuberant and refilled all the glasses. As usual, Sander was in charge and delighted everyone by playing the piano. What’s left to be said? Maybe that the house is still empty and will always be empty. Very empty.

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