An Email

 On the back of yesterday’s post, I will share these paragraphs from an email from a reader which rather moved me.

“I don’t need to shop for food items, but I pretend to. A chat to the teller can be quite engaging as long as they aren’t too busy to share a conversation. I try to alternate stores too because I don’t want to be known as the sad lady who chatters far too much.

There was a talk at the bookstore last week and even though I’m not a reader of fiction , I went for something to do. The author looked shy and ill at ease, so I spent time sharing anecdotes with her and she hugged me, with one of grateful hugs which made me burst into tears right THERE AND THEN. I’m not a crier John but I cry every day John, every single day.

I cry when I read of your village, and wish I was there. I cry when I will miss Mary, a dog I have never met and I cry when you do something kind for someone because I wish you were doing it to me.

Is that sad? 

I read many blogs of worth which give me company but I don’t comment even though I was once a person of some minor note in the academic field. A wife, agood friend, a person of interest who could hold her own at a faculty cocktail party full of strangers. 

Your blog touched a nerve with me yesterday, and if I wore a bra ever again. I would hike it up, like you have often done in Going Gently and will try to solider on as you do.”