Lincoln's son Willie died at 11. The Met's new opera puts his grief on stage, and the job that couldn't wait.

A president alone in a graveyard at night, mourning his son. The opera is about taking responsibility, and so is the first year after a loss.

By Sean Anees Saifi · Capital Wealth · Published Friday, October 23, 2026 · Source: The Wall Street Journal, Thursday, October 22, 2026, whose market figures are the Wednesday, October 21 close (Arts in Review)

Key Points

Lincoln in the Bardo, by composer Missy Mazzoli and librettist Royce Vavrek, had its world premiere at the Metropolitan Opera on Monday, Oct. 19. It comes from George Saunders's 2017 novel.
It's 1862 in Washington's Oak Hill Cemetery. Lincoln's 11-year-old son Willie has died of typhoid. Lincoln, sung by Peter Mattei, is the only living character and visits the grave alone at night.
The novel has more than a hundred narrators. The libretto trims them to a few ghosts who push Willie to move on, because the bardo, a kind of limbo, is no place for a child.
Lincoln's grief fills four arias spread across just over two hours of music. Critic Heidi Waleson says the opera's “central thread is about taking responsibility.”
In the final image, a Lincoln double rides across the stage, spurred toward the Emancipation Proclamation. Yannick Nézet-Séguin conducts and Lileana Blain-Cruz directs.

Willie Lincoln's age when he died of typhoid

1862

Oak Hill Cemetery, Washington, in the year the opera is set

Arias that carry Lincoln's grief through the opera

2 hours

Length of the music, a little over, by Waleson's count

An empty wooden chair before an old desk with an open journal, an ink bottle and pen, a brass clock and worn books, late sun slanting through blinds.

Lincoln is the only living character on stage. His grief fills four arias across just over two hours of music.

In one line: A grieving Lincoln fills the Met's new opera, and the lesson for the rest of us is no big money moves in fresh grief.

It's 1862. A president slips into a Washington cemetery alone at night to mourn his son. Willie Lincoln was 11, and typhoid had killed him. That's the heart of Lincoln in the Bardo, which had its world premiere at the Metropolitan Opera on Monday, Oct. 19. The Journal's Heidi Waleson found it moving. She says it takes on the novel's serious themes and keeps its fantasy and humor.

The opera comes from George Saunders's 2017 novel, which has more than a hundred narrators and leaves readers to sort them out. Royce Vavrek's libretto trims that crowd down to a few ghosts. They're stuck in Oak Hill Cemetery, in a limbo that Tibetan Buddhists call the bardo, and most won't admit they're dead. When Willie arrives, they set out to get him to move on, since it's no place for a child. Composer Missy Mazzoli's orchestra builds several distinct sound worlds. The Met chorus plays the restless dead, and now and then it plays kazoos.

Baritone Peter Mattei sings Lincoln, the only living person in the story. Four big arias, spread evenly through just over two hours of music, carry his grief. In some he remembers small, sweet moments with his boy. In others he mourns the Civil War dead and asks how much of it is on him. Waleson says it never turns maudlin. Its “central thread is about taking responsibility.” The ghosts slip inside Lincoln to hear his thoughts and push him forward. When one enters him, his white shirtfront lights up.

The job didn't wait

The history under the fantasy is plain. Lincoln lost his son in the middle of a war, and the work went on. In the last image, a Lincoln double rides a horse across the back of the stage. Thomas Havens is inside him. Havens, sung by tenor Joshua Blue, is the ghost of a man worked to death in slavery. He spurs the president toward the Emancipation Proclamation. Yannick Nézet-Séguin conducts. Lileana Blain-Cruz directs, on Adam Rigg's set of trees, graves and a crypt lit in purples and greens. For Waleson, what matters most at the end is how human the ghosts are.

Our read

This is a Behavioral story, with an Estate thread. Grief changes how people decide, and planners see the same pattern again and again. A widow might sell the house in month two because the quiet is too much. A widower might roll a whole account into a product a friendly stranger pitched at the funeral lunch. Lincoln had a war to run and no choice about timing. Most of us do have a choice. Our standing rule is simple. In the first months after a loss, make no money move you can't undo. File the claims, pay the bills, and let the big decisions wait. Our verdict is hold.

Here's the connection to your own plan. A letter of instruction is the plain-English note in your estate folder that tells your spouse or kids what to do first. Pull yours out this week and check whether it says which decisions can wait. Selling the house, rolling over the 401(k), buying an annuity, paying off the mortgage. A few choices do have deadlines, so name the person to call about those. If the letter only lists accounts and passwords, add a short section headed Not Yet. Someone grieving needs permission to wait, in writing, from you. It's the umbrella you leave by the door for a day you won't be there. If you'd like a template, ask at your next review.

What It Means For Your Portfolio

Hold. No money move you can't undo in fresh grief.

Grief is a bad time to make a decision you can't undo, so the plan should say what can wait.

General planning principles, not advice for anyone in particular. After a death, do the required things first, the claims, the bills, the survivor benefits. Leave the house, the rollover and any annuity for later, once the fog lifts. A few steps, like turning down an inheritance, have deadlines, so ask early about those.

Write that waiting rule into your own letter of instruction now. A grieving spouse needs permission to pause, and it carries more weight coming from you.