Heartbreaking exquisite writing giving us a unique portrait of her late father. ( )

This sweet short memoir contains Adichie's reflections after the sudden death of her father in June of 2020. My father died 13 months later, also during COVID shut-downs, and that's when friends, Dom and Nancy, gave me this lovely book. One of Adichie's descriptors really describes my father as well: "A gentle man and a gentleman." ( )

gedachten over rouw bij het overlijden van haar vader (88 jaar) en is ook prof geweest in VS. ( )

I’d been both looking forward to and dreading reading this one for years. I waited until it was the 25th anniversary of my mom‘s death. Adichie writes such beautiful and intimate descriptions of grief. Her words echoed my own feelings back to me.

“Grief is a cruel kind of education. You learn how ungentle mourning can be, how full of anger. You learn how glib condolences can feel. You learn how much grief is about language, the failure of language and the grasping for language”

“How is it that the world keeps going, breathing in and out unchanged, while in my soul there is a permanent scattering?”

“I finally understand why people get tattoos of those they have lost. The need to proclaim not merely the loss but the love, the continuity. I am my father’s daughter. It is an act of resistance and refusal: grief telling you it is over and your heart saying it is not; grief trying to shrink your love to the past and your heart saying it is present.”

“A friend sends me a line from my novel: 'Grief was the celebration of love, those who could feel real grief were lucky to have loved.' How odd to find it so exquisitely painful to read my own words.”

“Another revelation: how much laughter is a part of grief. Laughter is tightly braided into our family argot, and now we laugh remembering my father, but somewhere in the background there is a haze of disbelief. The laughter trails off. The laughter becomes tears and becomes sadness and becomes rage. I am unprepared for my wretched, roaring rage. In the face of this inferno that is sorrow, I am callow and unformed.”

“Does love bring, even if unconsciously, the delusional arrogance of expecting never to be touched by grief?”

“I back away from condolences. People are kind, people mean well, but knowing this does not make their words rankle less.”

“Grief is not gauzy; it is substantial, oppressive, a thing opaque. The weight is heaviest in the mornings, post-sleep: a leaden heart, a stubborn reality that refuses to budge. I will never see my father again. Never again. It feels as if I wake up only to sink and sink. In those moments, I am sure that I do not ever want to face the world again.”

“We don't know how we will grieve until we grieve.”

“I wish.. I wish.. the guilt gnaws at my soul. I think of all the things that could've happened, and all the ways the world could've been reshaped to prevent what happened on that day...” ( )

The book itself is well-written. Having experienced loss myself, I related to much of the emotions expressed throughout the book.

However, my personal opinion is that this should not have been published as a paid book. It is around 11 USD on Amazon, and for it being so short and such a personal recollection of thoughts and emotions regarding such an intimate moment, I feel like it somehow takes away from the authenticity of death and grief by making the book purchasable.

That being said, I think I would've been able to give this a full 5 stars had it been available for anyone online without the requirement of payment.

Just to clarify, I do not have a problem with paying for books — I am 100% a believer of paying the authors for their hard work. I just think there are instances where you charge, and instances you don't. But again, this is all my personal opinion.

Everyone can have different opinions, and the writing itself was lovely. This is my second book by Adichie and I am a fan of the writing style. ( )