Quote 1: The weather stayed awful almost all of the time. Cold and brown and windy. But one day in the middle of April the sun came out and William and I walked out on the rocks–it was low tide–and then we walked to a closed store that was the only other building out on this point and it had a lawn near it, and there were rocks right there too, and we sat in the sun on the porch of this closed store. And we were happy.
Quote 2: Sitting on the bench, Bob said, “So, Lucy, do you believe in God?” I was amazed. Nobody I knew had ever asked me such a thing. So I told him the truth. I said, “Well, I don’t not believe in God.” I squinted out over the cove, the water had a splash of white light on it from the sun, and there were a few seagulls at one of the wharfs… I said, “Well, my feelings about God have shifted over the years, and all I can say is: There’s more than meets the eye.” I added, “I’m pretty sure there’s more than meets the eye.” …After a moment I said, “You know, I read a book a few years ago, and some character in it said something like, It’s our duty to bear the burden of the mystery with as much grace as we can.
Quote 3: And thinking of this now made me think of something I had often thought before: that there had a been a last time–when they were little–that I had picked up the girls. This had often broken my heart, to realise that you never know the last time you pick up a child. Maybe you say, “Oh, honey, you’re getting too big to be picked up” or something like that. But then you never pick them up again.
Quote 4: “Well,” I said, “you know, we all make our choices.” But as I said that I wondered if it was true–if we really did make our choices–and I thought of that thing I had seen on my computer one night about there being no free will and that everything was predetermined. So I said, “I guess we make our own choices, I don’t really know.” Chrissy turned to look at me. “What do you mean? Mom, you just sat here the other day talking me out of a choice I probably would have made, so how can you say you don’t really know if we make our own choices?” “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know if I believe it or not.” I paused. “I don’t really know anything.” I added, “Except how much I love you and Becka. I know that.” Chrissy looked straight ahead. “Mom,” she said softly, “you know a lot.”
