I'm standing outside the room housing my grief and looking through the open door as though it's a precipice.
My many projects might indicate to others that I'm "okay" or "good." Evidence that time heals all wounds. While attempting to create meaning and have an impact (hopefully positive), my forward momentum seems to signify my grief has abated.
Today, I'll be a guest on a podcast for the first time, speaking about my book that won’t launch for two months. I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't even listen to podcasts.
Today is Memorial Day. How fitting.
It's been 1,346 days since losing Nicholas, and so much has changed, yet nothing has changed. It all happened yesterday.
On the day Nicholas died, as I stood in my bathroom mindlessly trying to pack a bag to get on a plane and go to him, I asked a friend, “what do you pack to go and pick up your dead child?” I don’t recall her answer. Maybe she had none.