My thoughts are fragmented. I am fragmented.
A road trip is brewing – Texas bound. We leave this Saturday. We will be gone nine days. In the space of those nine days, we will see my dad.
It may be the last time.
In this griefspace, I listen to Tori Amos and read my old journals. I reread my favorite books. I write in my sketchpad. I wear the same two shirts over and over. I have nothing insightful to say about grief. It’s just something I’m doing. Feeling. Being.