Wednesday, 28 December 2016

The Language of Dying by Sarah Pinborough

A woman sits beside her father's bedside as the night ticks away the final hours of his life. As she watches over her father, she relives the past week and the events that brought the family together . . . and she recalls all the weeks before that served to pull it apart.

There has never been anything normal about the lives raised in this house. It seems to her that sometimes her family is so colourful that the brightness hurts, and as they all join together in this time of impending loss she examines how they came to be the way they are and how it came to just be her, the drifter, that her father came home to die with.

But, the middle of five children, the woman has her own secrets . . . particularly the draw that pulled her back to the house when her own life looked set to crumble. And sitting through her lonely vigil, she remembers the thing she saw out in the fields all those years ago . . . the thing that they found her screaming for outside in the mud. As she peers through the familiar glass, she can't help but hope and wonder if it will come again.

Because it's one of those night, isn't it dad? A special terrible night. A full night. And that's always when it comes. If it comes at all.

I've been meaning to read/listen to this book for a couple of months.

Not keen on 1 of the characters as I want to hit and kill him. The woman (narrator) makes me feel sorry for her as she feels like she's on her own. I've not lost someone to the extent that I've sat with them. But I do know how it feels as I've watched my parents watch their parents pass away. Not something I would wish on anyone as it feels a rather sad and lonely feeling. 

Despair, emptiness and sad for a woman who's the middle child and no one else will look after their dad as he's dying. 

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