Elizabeth Strout · Faith · Love


He wanted to put his arms around her, but she had a darkness that seemed to stand beside her like an acquaintance that would not go away.


He wondered what in her young life had made her not trust happiness; perhaps her mother’s illness. Or maybe, he thought, returning to the boxes, it was part of being Catholic – you were made to feel guilty about everything.


No one seems to wear a suit to church anymore. In fact, only a handful of the congregation goes to church regularly anymore. This saddens Henry, and worry him. What worries him about the paucity of the congregation is that perhaps other have felt what he increasingly tries to deny – that this weekly gathering provides no real sense of confort. When they bow their heads or sing a hymn, there is no sense anymore that God’s presence is blessing them.


“Well, widow-comforter, how is she?” – Olive spoke in the dark from the bed.

“Struggling” – he said.

“Who isn’t.”


Olive Kitteridge – Elizabeth Strout


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s