If You’re Grieving, There’s Comfort In The Writing Community
As obvious as it should’ve been, I didn’t make this connection.
I lost my Dad on September 20th. The grief was (and is) heavy. About a month later I wrote this essay, trying to articulate the small comfort that was carrying me at the time: “his soothing, golden radio voice, captured in real time — suspended — and forever preserved in various vintage recordings.” Of course, it wasn’t just the sound of his beautiful voice. It was everything his voice represented to me, some of which I hoped to capture in that essay.
It’s now a few weeks after writing that piece. Hasn’t even been two full months since he passed but it feels like so much longer. Like a void filled of eternities. Why is that?
Other days, time flies ridiculously fast. Like, it’s already bedtime but didn’t I just wake up? And I’ve been able to work and carry on completely as normal, even returning again to that deep well of my favorite medicine: laughter. Like nothing changed. Like nothing happened. Why is that?
