A week has passed like a lifetime.
So I am back. In some way. After finding myself with time for what? Stitch. Quiet maybe. Quiet was good. And the things that needed to be done. Had to be done. Done. But to mourn? No. I do not feel sad. I can say that. It is OK. I feel different. Just Different. I don't need more time to drown in it. Lose it. This difference. I need to keep going. To express it. To celebrate it even. To be how I am. How I am now. Just Different. To slowly undo a knot of emotion that might get confused with sadness. To lay it out. Look. Listen. Form something out of it.
Appreciate all that it is.
My mother died, in her own house, in her own room, in her own way, on Friday night, June 21st, at about 9PM.
Dust is the handle. It breaks from the cup.
Dream is what’s left when the rest’s folded up.
Thank you all for your emails and overwhelming kind support. Thank you. It's OK.