RDNZ_2026-ISSUE0809_DIGITAL MAGAZINE

When the person you planned your life with is gone, how do you find a way forward? Remembering Elysha By Paul Folino Gallo I n his deeply personal debut memo i r, Re - membering Ely- sha, Paul Folino Gallo shares an honest, raw insight into love, devastat- ing loss, and the reality of rebuilding a life forever changed after the death of his wife. Written from a perspective rarely explored in contemporary literature, Gallo opens the door to the quiet, complicated reality of male grief. He captures the intricate balance of navigating life as a grieving husband and a newly single father, refusing to rely on easy clichés about “moving on.” Instead, this is a profound reflec- tion on moving forward learning to carry love through the hardest mo- ments while honouring the person who shaped your world. Early readers have praised the memoir as “raw, brave, and pro- foundly human,” offering words to a kind of heartbreak many carry but struggle to express. Ultimately, it is a comforting, essential reminder that even after unimaginable tragedy, hope, family, and connection remain. PRE-ORDER NOW reader ’ s digest 114 August/september 2026 BOOK REVIEW AMAZON AUSTRALIA: https://www.amazon.com.au/Remembering-Elysha-Grief-Fatherhood- Continues/dp/1923514881 INTERNATIONAL: https://www.readings.com.au/product/9781923514881/remembering- elysha--paul-folino-gallo--2026--9781923514881 TURN THE PAGE: An exclusive six-page extract of Remembering Elysha begins on the next page readersdigest.co.nz 115 Book Review The Village There’s wisdom in that oft-quoted proverb: ‘It takes a village to raise a child.’ What the proverb doesn’t mention is how that village assembles itself in crisis, how community reveals its true nature – not during ordinary times but in moments of catastrophic need. After Elysha died, I discovered our village was both smaller and larger than imagined. Some pillars crumbled under the weight of grief, while support emerged from unexpected sources, creating a network that sustained us when individual capacity faltered. The initial response was a tsunami of pasta, flowers, and sympathy cards. The meal train could have fed a small nation; by week three, our freezer held thirty- seven lasagnes. Giorgio began measuring time in pasta: ‘Dad, my birthday is only twelve lasagnes away!’ I even had stress dreams of being chased by a giant, ricotta- filled monster. While well-intentioned, these gestures created an administrative burden. There were notes to write, containers to return, and overlapping offers to coordinate when my emotional resources were depleted. A hierarchy of grief responses soon emerged. At the top were those who dropped off food and left immediately, expecting nothing. At the bottom were those who rang the doorbell during naptime to deliver unsolicited advice and casseroles containing raisins. There should be a law against inflicting grief platitudes and suspicious dried fruits simultaneously. One afternoon, three families arrived within an hour, each bearing elaborate meals. As the boys watched, I struggled to find fridge space while maintaining a grateful composure. That night, I threw away spoiled food, feeling both ungrateful and overwhelmed. We didn’t need more lasagne; we needed someone to organise the influx and create systems for our actual needs. Elysha’s brother, Christian, became an essential cornerstone. A man in his thirties, he moved in for “Dad, my birthday is only twelve lasagnes away!”