I think I have sat down at this computer for probably no more than ten hours since September. Bills, wedding, organizing and such… but writing? I’ve tried. I’ll knock out a few words, but the mental block is so strong it manifests itself into something physical. And reading over what I’ve already done? Forget it. The words blur together, lines run into each other and I keep losing my place. My head starts to hurt, my eyes burn, and at that point I’m just stuck staring uselessly at the screen.

My mind wanders… and keeps going to lonely and dark places as I sit. I have to get up and move, and just keep moving. Moving helps. Not a lot, but I’ll take what I can get.

On September twenty-fourth, my mother took her last breath in my arms. I sat in the room holding her head as she passed. The road up to that night was rocky and painful, so that evening came as no surprise. I’d been expecting it for sometime.

For those who have never lost someone – it is not easier if you know it’s coming. There is no solace in knowing the person is at peace or no longer in pain. The loss is palpable, smothering, and completely overwhelming. You hear stories from people that it gets easier. This too is different each person. It’s been five months this week. Five months since I held her hand the night before as she cried out in pain, praying to any deity that would listen help her.

I tried talking about it. I suppose you have to find the right person to talk to. Or I just don’t talk. For the most part it’s numb… until I’m still. Then the memories start the flit in. Little things like the way she’d walk into the room and chastise me for being on the computer so long as I wrote; asking why I did it.

Nothing feels the same, and keep wondering if it ever will again. This is a part of all of us. We outlive those who came before and learn to move on. You suffer a trauma and have to teach your muscles how to work all over again. I have to learn how to write again. To navigate through the pain and to lose myself in my imagination once more. The path is strewn with broken shards of my shattered world. So I dawn my work boots and start to rebuild. I have to pick up each piece and find a way to rebuild.

I don’t know how far this debris is spread, or how long it will take for me to learn how to string coherent thoughts together again. I do know that I can’t give up, and that I’m strong (and stubborn) enough to get the job done.