That’s all I can say.

Thank you.

I’m a writer too, and easily could, and sometimes do, dredge out the keyboard for the catharsis that is serving the grief with the painting of pixels and semi-colons. Sometimes, like the past seven days, after the churning out of another 19,967 words in service to litigation I never wanted in the first place, ever, there is only left a void in the place from whence might could flow the poetic prose you wax so eloquent. So when I can’t serve the grief myself with my own words, spent they be, (and Lori, I’m not surprised, what you say) I surely do appreciate being able to visit here, to nod yet again, yes, that, exactly.

Sometimes I can only come here once in a while because the one thing I’ve learned for sure in my last 15 months is that sometimes I’ve cried enough for now. And it ain’t often I come here and don’t weep. So you’ll understand, sometimes I can only come here once in a while.

I’ve said it too: I can’t talk about this any longer. I’ve shut people right down in the middle of a sentence. And stared into middle distance with the awkward silence brooding between us, and me, doing nothing at all to quell its ringing. So not like me.

I’ve done it too: felt the boil of the grief threaten to spill over, and pretended, with an iron fist of will, that I am in a meadow, on a hill top, with a warm breeze wafting the lowing of cattle on past me, rustling the daisies, and yarrow. And nothing here with the blue above and the fill of the nostrils needs to be wept over. And I’ve stopped the boil. Knowing full well I am lying suspended in a figment of my imagination, and nothing about anything is real anymore.

At the very least, my three babies still have me here. And they need to know that. I am. At the least.

Your sign posts are signals, Jenn — beacons that illuminate your way. And what’s more, they are art. Don’t underestimate the power of this.

More and more godspeed as you traverse this difficult arc.

From a fan…

Smiling as I read this. You are so wise and in a very healthy place. In my life, I went through a divorce that I did not seek. I remarried, to a man who truly was my “better half”. After 6 1/2 years of marriage, he died from cancer. He was 36.

Having been divorced and widowed, I will tell you the divorce was harder in this regard; dealing with rejection. When my husband, Bill, passed away, we were very much in love – our love having never been compromised.

I applaud your wisdom in honoring yourself. You are giving yourself a wonderful gift by following the truth as you see it. It doesn’t get any better than that.

But I cannot bear to hurt myself any longer.

I think you are the strongest woman I know, Jenn. And I think there are many who are more convinced of that than you.

Or, perhaps, many who were? Until now. And that’s what made me smile.