The end is the beginning

On absence and sorrow

Hello to you and you and you, to all of us navigating sorrow and endings. It seems like Mercury is in Gatorade and is relentlessly fucking everyone up. On the weekend I posted on socials about the divorce that’s heading our way once the requisite paperwork occurs, and in less than twenty-four hours, over 100,000 people looked at it and many people saved it? And that freaked me out so I took it down.

I write about life. There are things I can’t write about now. I write to make sense of things, but making sense of this feels like an impossible tangle of Christmas lights. I pull it out every year and think I’ll manage, but then the heat and the to do list and and and… I accept its unsolvable riddle. It’s harder to accept this one.

My absence here is perhaps a side effect of the freight train of change rattling my bones, unsettling any concrete thought I could have penned, although I didn’t know it was coming. We are in agreement and will move forward lovingly. Child-centric, protecting those wonders as much as we can. As many wonderful people have said, and lately have said to me, I can do hard things. I have a track record of doing hard things and at the moment I’m drawing on the dignity I’ve mustered in times of trouble. It is not an endless well, but it is a cup that I can fill drop by drop with gentle chats and hands that hold mine. Hands that know how it feels, or know me well.

I’ve said that I’d never put my words here behind a protected wall, but I can’t bear the thought of 100,000 people smirking at my downfall right now. What I didn’t know