In September I immersed myself in Sheshi and Trudie’s lives, working together with them to write his story.
And then I stopped writing.
Gil’s mom died. Sheshi died. Both from brain tumors. I read about the fathers in Afghanistan who are selling off their little girls so that they can feed their other children, about the nursing mothers in Tigray, Ethiopia, who eat leaves but produce no milk.
Josiah broke his collarbone playing soccer and needed surgery. We discovered Johnny needs myofunctional therapy, which I didn’t even know was a thing. Unsettling emails came from school, which led to a visit to a psychiatrist with one of our children.
I felt unwell for most of October. I stopped sleeping. I discovered I’m anemic. I still don’t know how much my body was speaking to my mind or my mind was speaking to my body.
Words left me in October. It’s the end of November and I am sleeping better and feeling better, but I’m still struggling to find words. I’ve stared at a blinking cursor on this blank document for restless days.