Reading,death and loneliness

When getting my nose in a book

Cured most things short of school,
It was worth ruining my eyes
To know I could still keep cool,
And deal out the old right hook
To dirty dogs twice my size.

Later, with inch-thick specs,
Evil was just my lark:
Me and my coat and fangs
Had ripping times in the dark.
The women I clubbed with sex!
I broke them up like meringues.

Don't read much now: the dude
Who lets the girl down before
The hero arrives, the chap
Who's yellow and keeps the store
Seem far too familiar. Get stewed:
Books are a load of crap.

(Phillip Larkin: A Study of Reading Habits)

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Since the death of my mother in law, I have had moments unsure of what exactly would offer my family members and myself the needed solace and help us heal an unexpected wound. Also I remained unsure if the responsibilities at my work place, that I certainly can't escape as long as I depend on that for my living, serve as a helpful detraction while tiding over the depression. At those difficult times I had to stay long hours at office. At home, the pain of loneliness was compounded by some heart wrenching questions from my wife and her sisters who lost their dearest mother to an untimely death. They were just inconsolable!

I'm indebted to Somerset Maugham for touching upon this issue in a novel dedicated to the pursuit of "truth" and "meaning" where the protagonist says:

"I want to make up my mind whether God is or God is not. I want to find out why evil exists. I want to know whether I have an 'immortal soul' or whether when I die 'it is the end'"...."if men have been asking them for thousands of years it proves that they can't help asking them and have to go on asking them"

Philip Larkin's above piece (who often wrote about death and loneliness) helped me somehow reinforce the reading habit.