by Leann Sewell
I have to start today with a confession. Bless me, Group, for I have sinned.
I realized last night I lay awake in my bed on Thursday nights trying to guess at the prompt for the next day and constructing potential first lines. This isn’t a mortal sin and it still needed to be let out.
I am a weak, large baby who just wants to be loved and the only way I can maybe succeed on my mission is to try and plan ahead for all possibilities. Semper paratus and all that.
With that out of the way maybe I am free to just scribble my little pen across my little paper and trust whatever comes.
As Joy read the blog post about grief this morning, I had the sense maybe not for the first time, that I am a twin. That I was not born alone. Did not gestate alone.
My twin is Grief and I ate her up inside our mother’s womb and carry her with me now.
We speak our own special twin language. I hold the memory of her hand in mine.
I can’t take a deep breath because she lives in the space around my lungs, my heart, my diaphragm.
I write her into being – let her guide the pen since she has no mouth to speak for herself.