November 18, 2020:
"I've read books like that," she said, sneering.
The moment shocked me for its ignorance. Like what? Monuments of world literature? Forty-five years later it's her hostility which stands out. She must have resented me so much.
In the burgeoning catalog of my retrospect there are growing numbers of these memories. Moments when her tone or her word choices betrayed hostility which feels bone-deep.
This isn't all there is. Naturally not. There are kind gestures, including attempts to make amends for hurts she knew she'd caused. They're touching; it makes me happy to think of them. That, and the fact we were able to say "I love you" before the end.
Still. I wish so much we had somehow been different to the people we were.