A few days ago, I watched my son kiss his beloved for the last time.

It was the most heartbreaking moment I have ever experienced. It was also one of the most beautiful, albeit in a bittersweet, poignant way.

I wanted to write about it, to write through the grief, but the words wouldn’t come. In fact, pretty much the only writing I’ve been able to focus on all week is my daily to-do list. Go to shops. Pick up mail. Buy earplugs.

Novel #3 hasn’t been touched for two weeks. The submission spreadsheet I created last week for Novels 1 & 2 doesn’t seem to matter right now.

Even writing this took a few goes, which is strange, because when I’m down, or feeling the barbs from my inner critic – my self-doubt monster – I often fight back with creativity.

Not this time.

So, what I’ve been doing is hanging out with my son. And I’ve been doing daily yoga, and cooking all sorts of things … and reading books and watching shows that ask nothing of me.

And that’s OK.

I don’t have a deadline.

What I need to do is let myself grieve in my own way a while and then, when I’m ready, the words will flow once more.

My inner muse knows I need some time.

There is something I need to write though. Notes about a beautiful young woman for tomorrow’s celebration of a life. And I have to do it today.

So, I’m going to make a cuppa, look at some photos, and get those notes down.

And then I’m going to spend some time with the people I love.

“…we should be careful
Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.” – Phillip Larkin, “The Mower”

PS. I did manage to write this free association style poem about grief earlier this week. It wasn’t what I planned to write. But it’s what came out, when I stopped trying to control the process and worry about whether it was “good enough”.






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