I recall reading portions of Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl at various times, but I never completed the book. However, recently, eight and a half months after Jan’s passing, my wife and I were discussing in one of my groups. Frankl’s theory of logotherapy, which derives from the Greek word for “meaning,” centers around the idea that the primary human drive is not pleasure, as Freud believed, but rather the search for what gives life meaning. I now have a framework for my life without Jan.

For those like me who are widows, Frankl understands suffering,

In some ways, suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning, such as the meaning of a sacrifice.

Jan and I lived meaningful lives. My challenge now is to continue to find meaning in my life without Jan.

As Frankl writes,

Those who have a ‘why’ to live can bear with almost any ‘how.

The love Jan and I shared was one of my primary sources of meaning. In addition, I stopped working full-time at the end of 2018 and struggled to replace the purpose I had gained from repairing the world. After Jan died, I suffered the “provisional existence of an unknown limit, ” which Frankl experienced when he was in the concentration camps.

I have replaced the loss of meaning and purpose with a series of activities:

1. Planning to celebrate Jan Day on her birthday this year.
2. Writing my random thoughts on Jan, love, grief, life, and all things considered;
3. Reading more than ever, including my Goodreads 2022 Reading Challenge; and
4. Walking more than I probably should.

I am also beginning to serve on the board of a few non-profits. It is time to transition from hands-on work to providing leadership in a different way.

Will this be enough to give my life meaning?

Ultimately, man should not ask what the meaning of his life is, but rather must recognize that it is he who is asked. In a word, each man is questioned by life, and he can only answer to life by answering for his own life; to life, he can only respond by being responsible.

I must continue to focus on my search for meaning, as life will inevitably change over time.

My grief journey has taught me that love never dies,

For the first time in my life, I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth – that Love is the ultimate and highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry, thought, and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love.

My path forward is to keep Jan’s love alive and continue to share it with others.

I recommend this book without reservation.

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Home: A Novel by Marilynne Robinson is a moving and healing book about families, family secrets, the passing of the generations, love, death, and faith. Robinson’s most significant work is an unforgettable embodiment of the most profound and universal emotions. Although I have not read the other novels in this series, I plan to add them to my list. I highly recommend this book.

It is a moving and healing book about families, family secrets, the passing of generations, love, death, and faith. With the loss of the love of my life ten months ago, these are topics that I have spent time thinking about. Ms. Robinson’s powerful writing weaved a story that I could not stop reading.

Again, I highly recommend this novel.

This is the Goodreads summary.

Hundreds of thousands were enthralled by the luminous voice of John Ames in Gilead Marilynne Robinson’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel. Home is an entirely independent, deeply affecting novel that takes place concurrently in the same locale, this time in the household of Reverend Robert Boughton, Ames’s closest friend.

Glory Boughton, aged thirty-eight, has returned to Gilead to care for her dying father. Soon her brother, Jack—the prodigal son of the family, gone for twenty years—comes home too, looking for refuge and trying to make peace with a past littered with tormenting trouble and pain.

Jack is one of the great characters in recent literature. A bad boy from childhood, an alcoholic who cannot hold a job, he is perpetually at odds with his surroundings and with his traditionalist father, though he remains Boughton’s most beloved child. Brilliant, lovable, and wayward, Jack forges an intense bond with Glory and engages painfully with Ames, his godfather and namesake.

Home is a moving and healing book about families, family secrets, the passing of the generations, love, death, and faith. Robinson’s most significant work is an unforgettable embodiment of the most profound and universal emotions.

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Today I read Can You Feel This? by Julie Orringer. This short story rekindled so many memories. In the chaos of a maternity ward, memories of tragedy and grief come flooding back for an anxious mother-to-be as she struggles to balance her child’s needs with her healing. Although Jan and I did not have the shadows of tragedy and grief when our sons were born, this short story was more than a page-turner. Can You Feel This? reminded me of the power of the love Jan and I shared.

When our second son was born, we almost had him at home or in the as we waited too long. In Can, You Feel This? , that was not the case. Both children had two loving parents but also grandparents.

When Jan had the first of several hospitalizations, she was in the hospital where her mother died. Jan told me her feelings, and I comforted her, but I could not fully comprehend her angst.

Can You Feel This? is part of Inheritance, a collection of five stories about secrets, unspoken desires, and dangerous revelations between loved ones. Each Inheritance piece can be read or listened to in a single setting. By yourself, behind closed doors, or shared with someone you trust. This is the second one in the series I have read. The previous one was Everything That my Mother Taught Me.

The Goodreads summary provides an overview,

Rushed into an emergency cesarean section, a woman finds herself in the same hospital where her suicidal mother died. She’s buried the trauma of her mother’s last hours—and also the dread that she might be just as vulnerable to breaking. As the new mother relives one crisis in the midst of another, prize-winning author Julie Orringer turns the joyous event of birth into a harrowing, poignant short story.

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The Bookstore Sisters: A Short Story by Alice Hoffman is a heartfelt short story about family, independence, and finding your place in the world. The overview should be enough to encourage everyone to read the book. I recommend this short story without any reservations. Ms. Hoffman has written a moving story that helped me to grapple with grief and reminded me that love is the highest and most important goal that humans can aspire.

Isabel Gibson has all but perfected the art of forgetting. She’s a New Yorker now, with nothing left to tie her to Brinkley’s Island, Maine. Her parents are gone, the family bookstore is all but bankrupt, and her sister, Sophie, will probably never speak to her again.

But when a mysterious letter arrives in her mailbox, Isabel feels drawn to the past. After years of fighting for her independence, she dreads the thought of going back to the island. What she finds there may forever alter her path—and change everything she thought she knew about her family, home, and herself.

Isabel sums up the power of love in this paragraph,

She was thinking about the way a fish loved a river, and a bird loved the sky, and a mother loved her daughters. She was remembering everything. How love could change a person, how it could cause you the greatest sorrow or shelter you from harm. There were moths hitting against the windowpanes. A night heron called in the marshland as if its heart were breaking.

I have always fantasized about working in or owning a small bookstore.

The Bookstore Sisters: A Short Story rekindled that dream and reminded me of the power of love.

The Jan Lilien Education Fund sponsors ongoing sustainability and environmental awareness programs. Gifts made this month; I will match dollar-for-dollar. All donations are tax-deductible.

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“The Witch” by Marie Ndiaye, the recipient of the Gold Medal in the Arts from the Kennedy Center International Committee on the Arts, is shortlisted for the International Booker Prize. In a small, sleepy town, a mediocre witch in a lackluster marriage attempts to pass on her gifts to her twin daughters, who quickly prove to possess abilities far greater than her own.

Lucie comes from a long line of witches, with powers passed down from mother to daughter. Many of them have hidden or repressed their gifts to appease disgusted or fearful men. But against the wishes of her controlling husband, Lucie initiates her twins into their family’s peculiar womanhood when they reach the age of twelve. In a few short months, Maud and Lise are crying rich crimson tears, their powers quickly becoming more potent than their mother’s, opening them to liberation and euphoria beyond what Lucie and her foremothers ever considered.

Equal parts dreamlike and disquieting, The Witch tells a tale as old as time, with a dark twist: Without looking back, children fly the nest, laying bare the tenuous threads of family that have long threatened to snap. With simmering tension and increasing panic, NDiaye’s latest novel in English captures the terror and precarity of motherhood and marriage, and the uncertainty of slowly realizing that your progeny are more dangerous—to the world and to your heart—and freer than you ever could have dreamed.

Marie Ndiaye was born in Pithiviers, France. She is the author of Rosie Carpe, winner of the Prix Femina, and of Three Strong Women, winner of the Prix Goncourt. Her recent novel, Vengeance is Mine, was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award for Fiction. She is also the recipient of the Kennedy Center International Committee on the Arts Gold Medal. She lives in Paris.

Translated by Jordan Stump.

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Demon Copperhead: A Novel by Barbara Kingsolver is a must-read page-turner! Set in the mountains of southern Appalachia, this is the story of a boy born to a teenage single mother in a single-wide trailer, with no assets beyond his dead father’s good looks and copper-colored hair, a caustic wit, and a fierce talent for survival. Demon Copperhead speaks for a new generation of lost boys and all those born into beautiful, cursed places they can’t imagine leaving behind.

With more knowledge about the devastation of an economy that works for a few and the opioid crisis, I felt as if I was reading about people I knew. Although the book focuses on the impact on boys, it also details the devastation that girls experience.

If Jan had read Demon Copperhead, she would have encouraged me to read it. It reminds us of the work we must do to repair the world.

As a widow, it was a reminder of the long road that we must all take even after we have hit bottom.

WNYC’s All of it hosted an interview with Barbara Kingsolver in which she speaks about Demon Copperhead and her writing.

Demon Copperhead is one of the NYTimes’ top five fiction books of 2022. I have read three of them, The Candy House, The Furrows, and Checkout 19.

The Goodreads summary provides an overview.

In a plot that never pauses for breath, relayed in his unsparing voice, he braves the modern perils of foster care, child labor, derelict schools, athletic success, addiction, disastrous loves, and crushing losses. Through all of it, he reckons with his invisibility in a popular culture where even the superheroes have abandoned rural people in favor of cities.

Many generations ago, Charles Dickens wrote David Copperfield from his experience as a survivor of institutional poverty and its damage to children in his society. Those problems have yet to be solved in ours. Dickens is not a prerequisite for readers of this novel, but he provided its inspiration. In transposing a Victorian epic novel to the contemporary American South, Barbara Kingsolver enlists Dickens’ anger and compassion and, above all, his faith in the transformative powers of a good story. Demon Copperhead speaks for a new generation of lost boys and all those born into beautiful, cursed places they can’t imagine leaving behind.

The Jan Lilien Education Fund sponsors ongoing sustainability and environmental awareness programs. Gifts made this month; I will match dollar-for-dollar. All donations are tax-deductible.

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Before departing for Toronto to celebrate our 44th Wedding Anniversary, I went through the e-library. Everything on my list that I wanted to read was not available except for this book. Being Mortal by Atul Gawande is the book I read on our vacation before Jan’s diagnosis of non-Hodgkin Large B-cell Lymphoma.

Selecting Being Mortal might seem an accidental choice to some, and I believe it was a divine intervention. It prepared me to be a caregiver to my wife over the nineteen months of her fight with cancer. It helped me focus on the good life that my wife lived and not the pain and suffering.

Atul Gawande describes his book as “riveting, honest, and humane. Being Mortal shows that the ultimate goal is not a good death but a good life – to the very end.”

When I read the book, I wondered what I could have done to help my mother in her final years. The book offers an excellent overview of how nursing homes and assisted living facilities have struggled to meet the needs of their residents.

Dr. Gawande provides an in-depth overview of the benefits of hospice care. Although I knew of this option, reading this book helped me understand that I was ready for hospice when my wife came home for the last time.

He reminds us that “when it comes to the inescapable realities of aging and death, what medicine can do often runs counter to what it should.” As he writes in the book, the current system does not work and, in many cases, actually shortens life.

This book has had a lasting impact on my life. It allowed me to be a loving caregiver to my wife when she needed it more than anything else. I read it when it would be most beneficial to me.

I highly recommend this book.

Atul Gawande is the author of several bestselling books: Complications, a finalist for the National Book Award; Better; The Checklist Manifesto; and Being Mortal. He is also a surgeon at Brigham and Women’s Hospital in Boston, a staff writer for The New Yorker, and a professor at Harvard Medical School and the Harvard School of Public Health. He has won the Lewis Thomas Prize for Writing about Science, a MacArthur Fellowship, and two National Magazine Awards. In his work in public health, he is the Founder and Chair of Ariadne Labs, a joint center for health systems innovation, and Lifebox, a nonprofit organization dedicated to making surgery safer globally. He is also the chair of Haven, where he served as CEO from 2018 to 2020. He and his wife have three children and live in Newton, Massachusetts.

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Today, I embarked on the literary journey of We the Animals by Justin Torres. This novel, listed among the New York Times’ 100 Best Books of the Century, is a groundbreaking work of art. The author of Blackouts immerses us in the tumultuous heart of a family, the intense bonds of three brothers, and the mythic impact of this fierce love on the individuals we are destined to become.

The narrative unfolds as three brothers navigate their way through childhood, a journey filled with emotional highs and lows, from playful acts like smashing tomatoes on each other to finding solace in each other’s company during their parents’ conflicts and even tiptoeing around the house as their mother rests after her graveyard shift. Paps and Ma, hailing from Brooklyn—he’s Puerto Rican, she’s white—share a profound and challenging love, shaping and reshaping the family numerous times. Life in this family is intense and all-consuming, filled with disorder, heartache, and the ecstasy of belonging to each other.

From the intense familial unity, a child feels to the profound alienation he endures as he begins to see the world, this beautiful novel doesn’t just tell a coming-of-age story; it reinvents it in a sly and punch-in-the-stomach powerful way. It delves into themes such as love, the meaning of family, and heartache, adding another layer of depth and complexity to the story.