Don't Let Go

by Harlan Coben

Daisy wore a clingy black dress with a neckline so deep it could tutor philosophy.

Dad was the pure definition of what the French label joie de vivre, which roughly translated means “exuberant enjoyment of life.” I’m not sure about that definition. My own experience is that the French love to feel. They take in the full experience of great loves and great tragedies without backing down or crouching into some sort of defensive stance. If life is going to punch them in the face, they stick their chins out and savor the moment. That is living life to the fullest.

I look up at Joe. He looks back at me. He gets why I’m here. I get that he gets it, and he gets that I get that.

Libraries for me have always had a cathedral-like ambiance, a hushed sanctuary where learning is revered, where we the people elevate books and education to the level of the religious.

Some claim that the first step in the grieving process is denial. Having delivered my share of life-shattering news, I have found the opposite to be true: The first step is complete and immediate comprehension. You hear the news and immediately you realize how absolutely devastating it is, how there will be no reprieve, how death is final, how your world is shattered and that you will never, ever be the same.