5th December, 1791
Is this true? Did I pray ‘let our children live to see their parents die?’ I take it back. I did not mean this day, this month, this year - I did not mean my brother, dead?
Too soon, Wolfie – please not yet – come back. There is music to finish. What would Papa say?
Swollen like a drowned man - to the drumbeats of a requiem - your poor, puffed-up, stiffened body dressed in its nightgown for a funeral, which I cannot attend because I am HERE! Damn the pain of living while those you love are dead - at least you will share the same worms with Mama and Papa. Bones into ash, ash into life. Wait for me, Jack Pudding, wait for me. N.