Στην σελίδα του στο facebook ανέβασε την παραπάνω φωτογραφία και έγραψε για την αδικομένη γυναίκα του τα παρακάτω. Μετάφραση δεν έγινε γιατί θεωρώ κάποια πράγματα αξίζουν αυθεντικά.
Yesterday, my cousin Roland Beaver lost his wife of 52 years. As I tried to think of something meaningful to say, something that could truly help and not just assuage my need to feel like I’d done something, something occurred to me, something that might somehow be of use or meaning to my dear cousin. When I heard his news, my mind, of course, went back to March 3, 2004, when I lost my own dear wife of not quite 19 years. I remember those early days when the desperate dread we’d lived under for what now seems far too short a time was suddenly replaced with the sense that all meaning had been ripped from life. But I had a two-year-old child, so, of course, life still had meaning. But it had lost its way. Nothing made sense. Going on made sense only for the sake of our child. Pain like nothing I had ever dreamed possible filled my days, weeks, and months thereafter. Each day seemed endless, each HOUR seemed endless. And yet. And yet. Here I am, on another March 3rd, the ninth one since she left, and what I feel is joy for having had her as long as I did, gratitude for all I learned from her and for the child she gave me, and virtually nothing of the agony that followed hard upon her departure. Oh, I miss her. I’ll miss her till the day I cease doing anything. She brought fun and love and understanding into my life in a way no one ever had. And I wish so often I could share my life since then the way we shared our lives before, and that she could see our child and know the good her struggles created. But there’s no agony any longer. Melancholy? Yes, no shortage there. But life is full and rich and no less so because she is no longer in it with me, for it was to a very great extent she that taught me how to have that full and rich life and to do so alone, without her. And so I’ve had new loves and new joys and a magnificent, splendorous life, and while I wish she were still here to share it with me, I thank her for what she gave me and for the freedom she taught me and for the life of joy Cecily sent me on to live. A lot can happen in nine years. Thanks, Pie.