I’ve decided to start blogging. I ’m not really sure why. Maybe it’s a way to talk to those of you who’ve tried calling me without...

The first months after my husband’s passing, I didn’t have much strength.Friends invited me to dinners, conversations, and warmth, and I could feel surrounded by love—but after an hour I wanted to go home again. To the solitude. To my bodyguard. Every day I looked at photographs of him. Perhaps it is about strength running out. Perhaps it is about something else—a need to be swallowed by memories, to not be interrupted in grief. I had a conversation with Håkan Ludwigson, a

"Diving'" by Fredrik Brodén This year has taken away people I have loved. Friends I thought would be with me longer. The longing for them is not dramatic. It ´s everyday. It comes up when I’m about to make a call. It arises when I hear a laugh that sounds familiar, when I think “I must tell them this” and realize I can’t. Or when someone rings the doorbell and I briefly think “It’s probably him.” But it’s not. I have seen friends struggle. Family struggle. Friends afflicted

I’m planning for Christmas in Causses Et Veyran. In the past, when the children were small, I threw myself headfirst into December as if the holiday carried some secret magic that I could uncover if I just tried hard enough. But the older the children grew, the more the Grinch in me emerged. That laconic voice that sighs at unnecessary efforts and questions all the glitter. I’ve simply struggled with holidays.One year, my entire Christmas decoration consisted of a chime, a po