March 26, 2018

The anniversary of mother’s death. She has been dead for forty-four years. I knew her for twenty-three years. Such statistics are unthinkable. I spent that day in the Cornell library, reading, close to a phone where I could call home from time to time to check the progress of the surgery. On that phone I learned the news. Was it the worst night of my life? Other claimants may win, because of the measure them of pure unconsciousness. My playwrights were lively, and one of them, my sanatorium patient, excelled.