My tears were falling into the bowl of beaten eggs and then my nose dripped into it. I flung the whole frothy mess into the sink. I said, “Well, what are you going to do? Just die? Or what?”
I couldn’t turn around. I heard him fold the paper. After a minute he said, ” Dear Hannah, I’m going to live right on. Dying is none of my business. Dying will have to take care of itself.”
He came to me then, an old man weakened and I’ll, with Nathan looking out of his eyes. He held me a long time as if under a passing storm, and then the quiets came. I fixed some supper, and we ate.
From Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry (161).
