Motherhood
I wrote for the first year and then I didn't for a long time. I didn't plan to stop. I expected the writing would fade slowly, a few more days passing between sessions. There wasn't a reason to stop, or maybe there were many reasons. A year in, it seemed there was nothing new to say. The feelings weren't evolving, the images that came with them were a repeating scroll. I told myself it would be good for me to write, but I didn't want to, so I told myself I had nothing left to say. Having moved from the place I lived with him, there was less to remind me, less to bring back memories of him, less to bring up loss and grief. I had found places for the things of his that I chose to keep, all except for the box with his name that stayed taped closed in the closet. It's still taped closed. I haven't faced it yet. Maybe the biggest reason is that I was so very tired. Grief is exhausting and after a year, I just didn't want to do the work any more. So I didn...