{"id":520797,"date":"2023-10-24T08:36:40","date_gmt":"2023-10-24T06:36:40","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/leregardlibre.com\/?p=520797"},"modified":"2023-11-04T22:00:33","modified_gmt":"2023-11-04T21:00:33","slug":"my-mother-in-all-things-that-endure-after-her-death","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/leregardlibre.com\/en\/literature\/my-mother-in-all-things-that-endure-after-her-death\/","title":{"rendered":"What remains after his death"},"content":{"rendered":"

Sort<\/strong> the belongings of a deceased relative <\/strong>makes <\/strong>often <\/strong>part of the mourning process. Ludivine Ribeiro took the exercise a step further. She <\/strong>a <\/strong>published <\/strong>a book. <\/strong>A way for<\/strong> the other<\/strong>eure<\/strong> genevoise <\/strong>from <\/strong>tells<\/strong>r<\/strong> a slice of life. His own and that of his family. A gentle, therapeutic book.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

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\u00abLife is divided into two parts, but no one tells us: the part where you have a mother, and the part after that. We're led to believe that it's trivial, a formality, that all you have to do is mourn, as quickly as possible - some will even give you a precise time, as if it were baking a cake - and off you go again. But no.\u00bb<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

The heroine of My mother in all things<\/em> struggles to find serenity after the death of the woman who gave birth to her. Even many years later, the separation still overwhelms her. More than she ever thought possible. As the author of her own story, Ludivine Ribeiro decided to draw up an inventory of the objects that had belonged to her \u00abas evidence of her presence\u00bb. Often emotionally charged, they represent the only material items left after a person's death.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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\u00abObjects, for which we have so little consideration, possess unsuspected powers. Their existence, often much longer than our own, is whimsical and plural, full of superimposed memories.\u00bb<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

She then lists: the Chantilly pistol, the emerald sari, the pink tank top... But also: letters, darkness, eternity... A way of recounting her own life, her memories, but also the journey of a much-loved mother whom she still admires.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00abWhat did you put in your rice salad?\u00bb<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

A chapter corresponds to an object: at first glance, the highly codified form could be tiresome. But this is not the case. Ludivine Ribeiro varies the narrative style with each recollection, gradually allowing us to get to know this German mother, who emigrated to Switzerland and married an Indian much older than herself. A luminous yet sad lady, involved in humanitarian causes, a great cook and a creative handyman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n