I keep a note in my phone. When I think of a topic or a phrase, or something or another jumps out at me, I jot it down on a list of sorts, so I won’t forget. When I am writing, I open this note and scan it for ideas. It refreshes my creativity and takes me back to places where inspiration struck. Essentially, it is a list of words. Seeds of ideas. Some of these seeds fall by the wayside and some of them eventually take root and blossom onto the page. It is part of my writing process.

Lately, my note has been empty. Nothing is jumping out. Nothing is inspiring. An empty page. I am not overly sorrowful, or depressed. I am not overwhelmed. I am sad to be sure, but I am able to carry on with life. It just feels different somehow. Dim. Shadowy. Less. Just going through the motions. The acute pain still rises up on occasion, unexpectedly as it always does with grief. More than that is the dull numbness. It takes over my days as I move past each moment. Somewhat robotic in my actions these days. My words still fail me. My brain is silent. No racing thoughts. No ideas to share.

I have shut off the outside world of fires, and floods, and politicians gone amuck. It’s too much for me to take in in my current condition. I am being gentle with myself. My body is demanding that I do. I am on my third bout of cold and flu symptoms since November. I am keeping the over the counter med companies in business. My immune system is reminding me I am compromised and it is best to take heed. When I am tired, which is most of the time, I sleep.

Now that the weather has warmed a small amount, I am getting outside to breathe when I can. Since no words are forthcoming, I am spending time in the pottery studio creating. It is my refuge for the time being. This week, a few words started making their way into my brain. They were tenderly tiptoeing, trying to protect my emotional state. They were not inspirational. Nor were they Informational. They were descriptive. A nebulous web of my feelings in this season. They floated around careful to light for short moments only, so as not to be too heavy for my heart to bear. Like cautious butterflies. Taking short breaks, only to take flight again in seconds.

The note in my phone is a butterfly net. Trying to capture what I cannot see. Invisible words which quantify what I am experiencing. Or at least give some sense of meaning to this new place in which I find myself. My sense of belonging is upended. I belonged to my parents and they belonged to me. They are gone, so now it feels I belong nowhere. Like I have been left behind.

A blank wilderness with no path through it. A tightrope with no net under it. A ship, untethered, no moorings, no bearings…just floating on the sea adrift without an anchor. A wandering soul in the valley of the shadow. Going into the darkness together, coming out alone. Now what? Now where? Part of my very essence is missing. Is that even possible? Part of me is just gone. Like a hole in my heart. It felt like this when I lost our first baby. Like part of my personality disappeared. Now, the core of who I am, who my parents raised me to be, has been pulled out from under me like a rug. I lie on the floor knowing what happened, seeing it all, but my brain is slow to catch on. Slow motion.

Grief is a shawl that wraps around me to insulate me from the world while I find my way. It is my protector. Putting space between myself and all the frantic frenzy that is life. It is not a bad thing to be separated. Alone. Solitude. I need this space to process the shards of my twice-broken heart. I am leaning into the healing process. I am not down for the count. I am up, working, laughing, doing some things for my own health, and listening. To the silence. To God. To my heart.

Next week Melinda and I are returning to Orlando to talk to all the people at the hospital who were so kind to us. We wrote them a thank you letter and we got a call. The powers that be want to hear our story. They asked us to tell it on camera, which we agreed to do. We believe this will make our traumatic time there transformational. Bring some closure. While we are there, we are going to take some time to visit our nephew and to have some fun in the area. A self-care trip of sorts. Who knows, maybe I will find some words down there.