Pass Andrea: Eltűnő ingerek

The pain has eased, the memories have faded, life rushes on, I am with him every day, with his absence I mean. This is how it has been for twenty years. Nevertheless, the impossibility of this challenge niggles at me. Last summer, all of a sudden, when I was out jogging, I had a flash of writer’s inspiration: the dramaturgical journey that the cruel illness takes the patient on. I couldn’t resist it. Then pretty soon this idea had me in house arrest. I couldn’t go out until I had found the right words. I had never spent so much time searching for a sentence, for a question, for an answer. ’How can the news of someone’s death be convincingly communicated on the stage? Hidigow? Widigould idigit widigork?’ (Andrea Pass)