Letting Go
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I let her, in a square white box, go become her absence. I let her breath go, the light from her eyes go. I let her tiny body go cold, stiff, bitter. I let seasons, lives, this earth, go on without her.
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Why we glow
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I am one week away from the release of my fourth book—my first for adults, and first non-fiction—NOTES FOR THE EVERLOST: A FIELD GUIDE TO GRIEF. I’m spinning. Nervous-spinning. Beset with twitches and dreams of falling and thick with memories and gratitude. Shambhala, my publisher, worked with me to prep for this busy season, and they said: We know you’re a photographer, and that’s great—how about videos? Readings, excerpts, that kind of thing. Can you do that? Always that same moment, the pause of the bereaved. How much can I say? How warm is this room?
Read MoreOne plus one
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I’ve abandoned most hopes of fitting in with ‘normal’ anything. I still come to Glow seeking the solace of strangers who understand, a refreshing contrast to people who can’t relate (at least, not yet), and to whom I cannot relate either (at least, not anymore). The line that used to feel like a demotion is now a truth I own, believe, and even embrace. You’re right, I’m not one of you.
Read MoreHere, there, and everywhere
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My younger daughter, Audrey, repeats this narrative nearly every day. Claire is her doll, and Claire was the sister she never met or played with. My heart stops and my breath catches in my throat as she explains to the receptionist behind the counter or the lady at the dog park: "You don't know I have two sisters. One is named Julia, and the other is named Claire but Claire died."
Read MoreTangled
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From the day of the positive pregnancy test, my mind switched gears. It switched from aspirations and baby planning to PTSD and sleepless nights. Endless hours of slumber are now lost to staring blankly at the ceiling, wondering if I should give into this new week's set of worries. As my panic progresses into an all-consuming whirlwind, I contemplate tossing myself into triage as the only way to anchor my feet to solid ground.
Read MoreHibernation to apathy to nirvana
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I am hibernating. In summer, in broad daylight. In the middle of the week, in the throes of work. When the world is buzzing around me like a bee in spring, all I want to be is a neatly-curled squirrel in winter. The world is spinning, and no matter how much we try, it’s still impossible to turn time back or sprint it forward. In the middle of all this, in a thorny cage of prickly ‘aspects’ trying to make me care, I am stuck. I am dumbstruck, even as I gently flap my wings and blink my timeless eyes.
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