Bayou Pages | “In Love: A Memoir of Love and Loss” by Amy Bloom

REVIEW BY MEREDITH MCKINNIE

“Marriage is not a ritual or an end. It is a long, intricate, intimate dance together and nothing matters more than your own sense of balance and your choice of partner.”

After hearing about Amy Bloom’s memoir, how her writing is the kind of composition a writer dreams of, I ordered a copy, ignorant of the controversial subject matter. When I read the book jacket, I was alarmed to find that this love story involved letting a loved one go, the final goodbye. Amy Bloom and Brian Ameche met in middle age, both in distant marriages. Enraptured by the author, Brian declared he wanted only to love her, to be her second in life, to help her shine. 

In New Haven, Connecticut, Amy and Brian live a life of understated northeast privilege, finding joy in food and comfort in one another’s presence. They revel in the dream of growing old together, feeling lucky that they found one another. Bloom writes, “Perspective is useful, of course: it’s why very few people want to be eighteen again. But the other side is having so much perspective, it’s hard to give a damn about anything happening here in the real.” With Amy’s adult children long out of the house, they invest their attention in their grandchildren, Brian being the type kids love to climb all over. After 12 years together, Amy begins noticing Brian’s forgetfulness, that his appreciation for food has waned, that though he once loved the water, he no longer goes out on the boat. A visit to the neurologist confirms their worst fear – advanced Alzheimer’s disease with a poor prognosis. Brian immediately decides he does not want the disease to rob him of his quality of life; he wants to bow out on his own terms. 

The ever supportive wife, Amy searches for an ethical exit for Brian, all while processing her impending loss. Bloom explains the cumbersome right-to-die laws in the U.S. that make it almost impossible for one to legally take their own life. After extensive paperwork and time-sensitive interviews, Brian is accepted to the Dignitas Clinic in Switzerland. Bloom takes us along for that last trip, for buying two plane tickets with only one passenger returning. She allows readers inside the room when Brian takes the sodium pentobarbital. We’re privy to their final words to one another. 

While this account may sound sad and perhaps morally troublesome to some, I haven’t read such a beautiful, well-written love story in quite some time. Bloom interweaves chapters, detailing their romance, the beginnings of Brian’s illness, and that fateful trip to Switzerland. She combs through those memories with grace and restrained emotion, though she pulls the tears out of us. On the plane, Brian and Amy order wine, and remember to clink their glasses with their traditional Italian toast “Cen’tanni.” The expression – “May we have 100 years” – doesn’t suit the moment or the destination. 

“But in the morning everything can, and must, be seen. Daylight takes us; it peels us like fruit.”