Facing the yawning abyss of solitude in the fall of my life
It was a beautiful fall day in early October, 2023, when Anne and I were still living in Dijon, France.
We were heading for Mâcon for a day trip, on a local train destined for Lyon. The train was an old relic, the kind with compartments rather than seats.
An American traveller from Syracuse, New York, joined us in our compartment. He was a man of about my age, and the three of us chatted about translation and literature. He was a very well-read individual.
After an hour or so of chatting, he informed us that he had recently lost his wife to cancer. “You need to prepare yourselves, “ he said. “One of you is soon going to find yourself alone.”
Anne and I often talked about this conversation, about the details he shared concerning his lengthy relationship, about how shattered he was in the wake of his loss.
Now a mere three years later, I have tumbled into the yawning abyss of solitude that this prophet had predicted and was experiencing himself . My Anne succumbed to incurable brain cancer, glioblastoma, and she beautifully but heart-wrenchingly faded away in early May, like those final glorious days of autumn, in France, in 2023.
For more images, click here:
My wife Anne has brain cancer/ Mon épouse Anne est atteinte d’un cancer du cerveau – Robert McBryde
Your friend
Robert
https://robertmcbrydeauthor.com/
If you feel like reading more about Anne’s cancer journey, I’ve chronicled it in prose and poetry here:
https://robertmcbrydeauthor.com/news/
