Diary

It was extraordinary to go into the theatre yesterday for the last ten minutes of the matinee.
There was that silence: that silence I love when everyone is listening.
It was just at that bit when the Mother is telling Mary about her dad, and how she's going off to find him and take him home.
And then there was the swing, and I was aware the silence was being punctuated by sniffles from all over the stalls as people wept. And there were men just along from me wiping their eyes.
And when the play ended, and the stage lights went out, there was not the usual applause.
Instead there was a profound silence.
And then the stage lights went back on, and the applause began, and I ran out.
Aware more than ever of the responsibility I have as a writer.

Last night I dreamt Susie was alive again.
She was happy and animated and talking excitedly of the correspondence she was having with Michelle Obama, who of course in life she knew nothing about but who in death, now, she greatly admires.
And the dream did not torment me as I woke with the most agonizingly acute memory of my loss.
As such dreams used to...
Instead I woke up full of happiness and joy.

Labels: silence in the auditorium