"When he [Dante] accepted that he would never return to Florence he figured that he did not have to keep writing the books that other people wanted; he would write the books — the book, actually — that he alone believed in."
That book, of course, was The Divine Comedy.
Another passage:
"That is the real magical thinking of grief. That other life that death throws you into — the one you wanted nothing to do with — is actually one you can build upon. For it contains the gifts that the person who loved you left behind."
As I continue to live "that other life," a life without Mom, I'm finding that the gifts of words and writing, the gifts she gave me, bring comfort and courage. It's not quite as tidy as it sounds here, but it's close enough.