Hi Wednesday group. I’m here with just a little bit today. My kids are on school break and my week is just flopping around, throwing me some curveballs as I attempt to navigate work commitments, attending to the kids and my writing.
Next Wednesday we will meet not on the page but in real time by way of a Zoom gathering. As I mentioned in Some Ideas on Where I Want to Take This Space my vision for the paid tier is to create an intimate community - one that connects in real time once a month - to rip on life, writing, and our collective feelings on being a human. Our April Zoom will be next Wednesday, 4/24 at 12:00 noon EST.
Today’s post will include a poem that stopped me in my tracks and made me anticipate the grief that is yet to come my way. We can use this as a springboard for our discussion AND I want you all to bring to the gathering something that stopped you in your tracks recently. A poem, a song, a lyric, a piece of art, a quote, a conversation. Anything that stirred up your insides.
So, the thing I am dumping here today is grief and how it keeps regurgitating itself in my throat. This special flavor is anticipatory. It’s showing up in a way where I am letting myself grieve a thing that has yet to happen.
Yesterday my family went on our first college tour for my oldest kiddo. My son Nate is 16, a junior in high school. Right up until the moment we pulled our car into the campus parking lot I was in that stage of grief we have all heard about - denial. For months, I have been denying the fact that this kid will fly the coop soon.
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