ABSTRACT
Robert’s death left me crippled and drained. Whom could I rely on from now on, whose shoulders might I be able to cry on? After eight years abroad, I felt at sea in my own country. How would I support myself and the children? Most of my former friends continued to venerate suburbia and all that entailed, whereas my own horizon had expanded exponentially. I was unprepared for the everyday hassles lone widows encounter: reverse discrimination at the Social Security Office on 125th Street; having my personal property floater cancelled because widows were deemed to be greater risks than expatriates in Italy; getting Charlie, who worried that I now would sue him for having skipped child-support, to send his check. My parents kept berating me for putting Allen and Vivien in private schools. (The assistant principal at Hunter High had whispered, confidentially, that if I could possibly afford private schooling, the children would benefit. I believed her.) Moreover, I couldn’t sleep, was dog-tired and weary, and in need of emotional support. New York turned out to be a rougher place than I remembered.
