A few years ago, I read Toni Morrison's Beloved. It was a powerful book; I found myself unwilling to read anything else for some weeks afterward. Powerful, painful, perfect in itself--nothing else tempted me.
It has been over a month now since I really have done any writing. The grief of loss, the worried concern, the guilt of joy in the midst of others' sorrow...so many feelings beyond the scope of language.
I remember how guilty I felt the first time I ate after my father's death. I also remember the unreasonable dislike I had for the dried flowers a well-meaning friend gave me. Life is relentless. It moves forward.
And today I am excited and happy because I am about to make the four hour drive that will get me to the airport to meet my husband. My daughters and I will sing to our iPods as we travel to my mother's home. They will be writing their Christmas wish-list for me to take as I continue the journey alone.
I will be at the airport gate when his flight arrives. I will cry. I will be happier than I have been for a very long time, in the arms of my beloved.
But I don't think I can forget those who cannot be.
Calm and Silence
1 day ago