Life, Spoiler Alert!

In defence of melancholy (when consumed with caution)

Life is more enjoyable when taken seriously.

-Christian de Nogales, Psychiatrist

We had agreed to meet for lunch at the Bains des Pâquis, Geneva’s city beach, a perfect destination on a sunny day.

“It’s raining; where shall we go?” Helena texts me.

“Let’s go there in spite of the gloomy weather; you and I love melancholy.”

She sends a thumb up emoji.

We sit inside the open cafeteria’s wooden barracks and talk about ageing. Helena is 40, I’m 56. Her mother is dying. Alzheimer. I’ve seen her deal with her mother’s diagnosis for the past two years. The initial blow, the denial, then the fight, the anxiety, the powerlessness, the pain, the acceptance, and now the desire for it to be over.

“She’s alive, but I’ve already lost her,” she says.

Observing the silvery drops gleam on the window panes, the grey clouds over the lake, I tell her I’m writing a poem in defence of melancholy.

“I long embraced this defamed sentiment,” I say, “with caution. I know it can bring you down.” I want to warn Helena as an older sister would. Melancholy can hand you over to depression, “Melancholy is a good companion as long as you can keep her at arm’s…