A Letter to the Companion Who Has Gone Quiet
You did not mean to go quiet. You looked up around month three and the silence had already set in. This letter is for you, and it is not the telling-off you are bracing for.
Read MoreThe Writing
Reflections on grief, love, sobriety, and the ordinary work of beginning again. The free pieces you can read in full, right here. The deeper, more personal work lives in The Container on Patreon. Some of these I first read aloud at open mic nights, and some are seeds of the two books on the way.
You did not mean to go quiet. You looked up around month three and the silence had already set in. This letter is for you, and it is not the telling-off you are bracing for.
Read MoreWhen my college golf program got canceled, it was everything I would have asked for. It took me years, and a much larger loss, to see that I had also lost something that day.
Read MoreFor three years after Dan died, I woke at three and did not get back down. Then, in the hardest week of the year, in the city where it all happened, my body slept thirteen hours straight.
Read MoreYou sent the text on Tuesday. You showed up on Saturday. And then they stop replying, and you start to wonder if you did something wrong. You did not.
Read MoreThree years since Dan died, and for the first time the anniversary did not flatten me. The hole opened at the kitchen counter, and I had a way to step into it.
Read MoreI walked through an archway in a Melbourne pub and for a second I thought I saw Dan. What came up was not nostalgia. It was grief, a specific kind I am still learning to name.
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