the story of our love

I came across this beautiful piece in the Times a few months back. I cried when I read in the cafe. It's the thoughts and love of André Gorz, a French philosopher, who committed suicide with his beloved wife Dorine, before she succumbed to cancer.

There isn't much to be said. I can't think of many things that have compelled me, as this piece did when I read. I wonder, does love exist like this anymore. Do we still give so much of ourselves for each other. I pinned up a clipping to a board in my room as a reminder that there is still beauty to be found..this is what I'm after.

"I have to record the story of our love piece by piece to appreciate its full meaning. It’s allowed us to become who we are now, living side by side and only for each other. I’m writing this to you to try to understand my life, to understand our life together.

Our story began marvelously – love at first sight, more or less. The day we met, you were surrounded by three men trying to teach you poker. You had just arrived from England and the men, each of whom had just a basic grasp of English, were trying to impress you. When our eyes met, I thought, “I have absolutely no chance with her.”

I bumped into you a month later in the street . . . I ran to catch up with you. You were walking quickly. It had been snowing. Your hair was curly from the drizzle. Off the top of my head, I asked if you’d like to go dancing. “Sure, why not,” you said. That’s all. It was October 23, 1947 . . .

I took a photo of you from behind. You’re paddling at La Jolla beach. You are 52 years old. You’re wonderful. It’s one of my favourite pictures of you.

I gazed at that photo for a long time after we came home, when you told me that you thought you might have cancer. You had been thinking this even before we left for the United States, but hadn’t wanted to tell me. Why not? “If I must die,” you told me calmly, “I wanted to see California first.”

You’ve just turned 82. You’re still beautiful, graceful and desirable. We’ve been living together for 58 years now and I love you more than ever. I’ve recently fallen in love with you all over again, and I carry within me once more a gnawing emptiness that ceases only when your body is pressed up against mine.

I sometimes dream of a man, a figure on an empty road in a deserted landscape, walking behind a hearse. I am that man. It’s you the hearse is taking away. I don’t want to be there at your cremation; I don’t want to be handed an urn with your ashes. I hear the voice of Kathleen Ferrier singing “Die Welt ist leer, Ich will nicht
leben mehr”* and I awake.

I check to see if you’re breathing, my hand brushes over you. Neither of us wants to outlive the other. We always used to say that if, by some miracle, we were to have a second life, we’d like to spend it together. *The world is empty, I don’t want to live any more."

André Gorz
Translated by Francesca Steele