In “Making Toast” essayist Roger Rosenblatt tries to make sense of his daughter’s death. She was 38. A wife. A mother. A medical doctor. And she died, without any warning, of an asymptomatic heart condition.
After their daughter’s sudden death, Rosenblatt and his wife moved in with their son-in-law and their grandchildren, and the book’s title comes from his humbling realization that sometimes, all you can do is the ordinary in order to get through the day.
Rosenblatt has faith in God, but his is the faith of James Joyce. His is a snickering God, someone who hides behind reality, and says, “Good luck.”
“I do wonder why he struck down Amy. It is the way the world turns, but when it turns against you, it brings you to your knees. I have learned that the world of suffering is in itself a strange manifestation (but it is) a useful world. It reminds us of who we are. That we are mortal.”