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

My art Gallery in a French village / by Marie Nicolas Guérin So now I can add a new title to my CV, “Blogger.” Nice and simple. You...

It’s summer in Causses et Veyran . My  first summer in 35 years without my bodyguard by my side. To stay grounded, I keep myself busy...

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...