Andrew's Last Letter to Sandy
September 2013
Sandy – your favourite (and only) son-in-law here.
We’re not long back from France and still running to stand still. It’s always the same after the Pyrenees lets go its grasp. Which invariably for me involves a slight dip and then a depression. Our time together in the forest as precious as ever. Snakes seem to have invaded the house. Our bedroom was a wash and the roof a little like piccalilli circus. Snakeskins abound, but as you probably know this has never phased your daughter nor Eden and myself.
We sometimes ponder why we bother but as an antidote to the thing that is UK living, it works a wonder. The roof has been mended the water sorted and Eden’s paintings completed.
Anyhow
Leila has continued to forward your dispatches and under the circumstances the coherence and insightfulness of your missives is remarkable. Your words. Those walks and talks and natters. I miss you.
It’s been a while since we spoke so I send you this, perhaps even as a farewell.
The fact that life has no meaning is the very reason to live, perhaps the only reason. We try to fill it with things that matter. Your daughter is one of those things and Eden perhaps the glue that has held us together. We are very tight and we have taught each other. I thank you for her.
I have been re reading my E.M Cioran of late and this seemed particularly pertinent to where you’re now at:
We must be in a state of receptivity – that is of physical weakness – for words to touch us, to insinuate themselves into us and there begin a sort of new career.
I have always sought solace in his words. The Trouble with being Born his masterpiece.
I must sign off now – there is more work to be done.
I will sing loud with sadness when they set you to rest.
And I will wear some red.
With love and love and love – Andrew X
Sandy – your favourite (and only) son-in-law here.
We’re not long back from France and still running to stand still. It’s always the same after the Pyrenees lets go its grasp. Which invariably for me involves a slight dip and then a depression. Our time together in the forest as precious as ever. Snakes seem to have invaded the house. Our bedroom was a wash and the roof a little like piccalilli circus. Snakeskins abound, but as you probably know this has never phased your daughter nor Eden and myself.
We sometimes ponder why we bother but as an antidote to the thing that is UK living, it works a wonder. The roof has been mended the water sorted and Eden’s paintings completed.
Anyhow
Leila has continued to forward your dispatches and under the circumstances the coherence and insightfulness of your missives is remarkable. Your words. Those walks and talks and natters. I miss you.
It’s been a while since we spoke so I send you this, perhaps even as a farewell.
The fact that life has no meaning is the very reason to live, perhaps the only reason. We try to fill it with things that matter. Your daughter is one of those things and Eden perhaps the glue that has held us together. We are very tight and we have taught each other. I thank you for her.
I have been re reading my E.M Cioran of late and this seemed particularly pertinent to where you’re now at:
We must be in a state of receptivity – that is of physical weakness – for words to touch us, to insinuate themselves into us and there begin a sort of new career.
I have always sought solace in his words. The Trouble with being Born his masterpiece.
I must sign off now – there is more work to be done.
I will sing loud with sadness when they set you to rest.
And I will wear some red.
With love and love and love – Andrew X