H. uncle died. He was the uncle of my husband (G) and I really liked him. For months we knew that beforehand, it was a relief for him.
Yesterday, G and I just spent the day only with each other, without another human being. Long sleep, eat in the bright light of the winter sun, we have discussed, a round booted in small box, the setting in the winter sun, had a an evening with good food and a wicked film ("The Medusa", according to the program "Psycho Thriller GB / Fr, 1978, Lino Ventura and Richard Burton) and then cuddle round by candlelight. I'm something of a privileged, in this man this life. beyond (but not in Chad and not in Israel, for example) Now go back
like to move myself in the fresh air. Had while I rumstapfte such an inspiration today, found the explanation of why I often long for earlier moments that were not so insanely happy: But in those moments I was all for me. Happy moments, but not only. I was myself and with my feelings - no matter what kind - one. And these are the precious moments in life.
I regret it, but I have to assume that very many people - perhaps Uncle H. - too few of these moments have experienced. That's what makes you sick, because then you are forced to itself.
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