I remember the morning my world  s h a t t e r e d. It came, bursting and bright, barreling through our bedroom window like a meteor. I didn’t stir. After the explosion you slipped from the safety of our bed, quiet and calm, and placed your feet upon the shards of me I had yet to discover had been br ok en. Tell me, did your feet bleed? I heard you, sweeping up the jagged pieces of confidence that I would forget I lost and listened to you count the days, you knew, I would struggle to breathe….

Dear Me

Someone recently asked me what I would tell my younger self if I could go back in time. The following is a complex answer to an incredibly loaded question… Dear me, You’re 10 and grieving for the first time. You loved that cat more than anything and no one told you that death wasn’t something made up in Sunday School. Cry. Cry because in this moment you are learning that life is fragile and beautiful and existential. Cry because right now we are realizing that being vulnerable is not the same as being weak and being transparent is constructive. Cry. Cry because today you construct the first fibers of the…