It was not an easy night. 4 A.M. had me in tears on the phone because I imagined life without Miner.
What was worse? My imagination? or the self-awareness, the feel of the grimy black bottom of the barrel?
It comes in unexpected waves and threatens to take your feet right out from under you. This is why they say in Hawai'i, Don't ever turn your back to the sea.
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And inspiration is wall of miniature bricks. They look so nice, one atop the other. They feel solid, settled, and secure. They belong in this just-so pattern, higher and higher in perfect form.
And then I feel the weight of them bearing down on the bones. Still so much more to build.
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I need to write the way I need to cry, and at-times-scream. But putting the words together one after another is like mortaring brick upon brick, with raw, bleeding fingertips.
"You were called to be a mother." — Brooke L.
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