Tonight, I drank white wine. I'm not sleepy. At the restaurant, with Marie-Claire, we chatted at length, like all times, rare, that we see ourselves. I waited in his office that she had finished her last consultation and we went Dining near Place Lyautey. A restaurant that looks a bit like the Brasserie Brotteaux where we had dinner a few months ago.
She returned from a trip to Turkey, Patmos and Ephesus on the steps of St. John, who was much marked. But what touched me the most is what she told me about his desire to write, which was new to her long mutilated that side. After being ejected from the center dirty school where I work, she trained as a psycho and has now calmed down on this painful past. See her go on this journey in words enchants.
Evening sweet Soothing with a woman who does not judge anything or anyone and knows how to listen and take a step back when necessary. We have three months apart, almost twins, and follow parallel paths and different time. On sunny days, I'll see her in her beautiful home of the Isere, where I took Kicou shortly before his death. With Marie-Claire that we shared the last moments of life of our friend in hospital Charpennes, when he was admitted to a palliative care service. I had called and we all went to visit him in his room in semi-darkness. On leaving, we both understood that we had say goodbye. She died two days later.
Marie Claire had written this farewell to George, the husband Kicou. She had then read large portions of the letter and had she found the words that I, I never could draw.
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