'John Dunne, husband of American writer Joan Didion, died suddenly one night at their dinner table. Didion was struck by a grief so overwhelming it left her winded and struggling. Not only was her husband gone, her work colleague, collaborator and daily confidant had disappeared in a moment. The silence of his absence gave way to strange thoughts and preoccupations for Didion. Famously, she believed that she could not give away her husband’s clothing and shoes as he would need them when he came back.' (Introduction)
Epigraph:
To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. —Shakespeare, Hamlet