The good news is that I continue to be able to work: I have yet to miss a Wall Street Journal or Commentary deadline since Hilary’s death, and I have an essay coming out in the June issue of Commentary in which I speak at length about our marriage and pay tribute to her special qualities, both as a woman and as a life’s companion. I can’t exactly say that the piece was a comfort to write, but it was definitely necessary, and I hope I captured something of her in what I wrote.
As for the rest, I am fortunate to be in the case of a psychiatrist who figured out early on that I was having serious trouble with insomnia and did something about it. No matter how hard the day has been, I know at its end that I will sleep deeply and well. And in between? All I could do at first was work and watch movies, but now I’m reading again—I’m working my way through Barbara Pym’s novels for the first time in years—and I am, first and foremost, staying in touch with the close friends who are collectively pulling me through the long, hard process of coming to terms with the death of a spouse.
To all of you who’ve expressed concern, you’re right to do so, but fear not: I’m being looked after, and I seem to be able to maintain enough altitude to stay above the trees. That’s all I can hope for at present, but it’s working, and I am, if not exactly content, coping.