It was a question which, from time to time, caused her some anxiety and left her fretting with a dreadful sense of waste. I have come full circle, she told herself, and wondered what had happened to all the years. If her own life was that carefully described pencil line, she knew all at once that the two ends were drawing close together. "A ring was the accepted sign of infinity, eternity. And other times, I can't believe that she isn't somewhere in the house and that a door won't open and she'll be there."įor me, she nailed what it is to lose someone you truly love.Īnd this passage that might be best understood by someone my own age, and yet I know I must have understood it even when I was so young, reading this for the first time: I still think about her every day of my life. I can't think of a single person who didn't love her. She carried a sort of security about with her. Hot-tempered one moment, and laughing the next. But more than that, she was warm and funny and loving.
I thought of my own mother when I read these lines: "Yes, she was lovely. It was a re-read, but goodness knows almost thirty years between reads made it brand new in many ways. But, there was something very touching in the way Pilcher presented this story a truthfulness that made it special. I cried like I was 15 again, felt foolish doing it, and felt clean and empty afterward. My sentimental side is harder to access, and even when a book evokes strong feelings I do not really cry. I used to do it when I was younger, but my insides seem to have toughened as I have aged. I seldom find myself blubbering over a book anymore.
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