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“Once considered sacred, the Ilissos marked the southern border of Athens.”
“The last days we spend with someone are not about their last breath.”
“Years before all this, my father seemed to be compiling a playlist of Greek songs he wanted at his funeral.”
“He rarely returned to Greece.”
““The forty?” She asks, meaning the memorial that takes place forty days after a death.”
““I’m crying because, because,” he said to the nurse.”
“My father’s memorial service had been in Michigan, weeks after his death, but there was no forty-day commemoration.”
“I don’t know what possesses me, but I jump in and nearly feel my heartbeat stop.”
“They’re not clouds, she writes.”
“As if she worries I might complain, write a Tripadvisor review, The pool was not heated.”
“He made it through August and died on the first of September.”
“As I walk through Athens that November, these lines run through and merge in my mind, as though they belong together.”
“A song about a man walking through the city, not recognizing a face, not being recognized, and not recognizing himself.”
“There’s a distance between grieving and mourning, the potential of a wave just before it crests and breaks.”
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“What sorts of things overshadow this landscape, what do I superimpose upon it, what is inextricable?”
“These old streets that I have loved and hated endlessly.”
“The grief I cannot shed the way I’ve shed so many things in Athens.”
“Bellou was Eleni’s favorite singer—and it was Eleni who introduced me to her music.”
“The vastness I’ve always felt in this city, the openness, had disappeared.”
“But Greek music was one of the few ways we could connect, so I was happy for them.”
“I haven’t contacted friends or family; it feels necessary to spend some time alone.”
“I return to my room and have a coffee on my balcony—I have a literary preoccupation with balconies.”
“After I lit those candles and before I descended, I took in this beautiful city, its streets and its stones, its balconies, its conversations, its tenderness, its belligerence, its lives, its fires, its mountains, its sparkling Aegean in the distance.”
““Natalie.” “It’s me,” he echoed.”
“The Athenian rivers are classical and modern; the story they tell depends upon which moment of time.”
“That mourning, by definition, was public.”