‘Somehow I was always sure I would die before Mum, worrying who I could trust with my work, where I could hide them, being certain she would add her own tenderness, exquisite emotions and worries to them. Now that I am compiling her book, I keep in mind my fear and leave everything exactly as Tsitsi had written. These are her thoughts, memories, attitudes and concerns, her great pain.’ (From Beka Kurkhuli’s foreword.)