I write because I want to touch people, to give them a little of me, so maybe they’ll pass on a little of themselves to others. But right now, I don’t know what I have to give. I miss Jody so much. I cry a lot when I’m alone. So why am I writing to you now? Shouldn’t I just take a few days off for myself?
“But, Bruce – this typing is for you, even if it feels like you have nothing to say.”
I guess I’ll sit here and see if anything comes. If it doesn’t, I’ll just say goodnight.
So much of my experience is silent. Big moments seep through. Like now. I’m just so quiet. Jody is here. I long to touch her, to stroke her cheek, to brush her hair, to rub her feet. My brain wants to go to the empirical evidence for life after death but the soul within me just wants to hold and be held. My hand moves naturally to cover my heart. My cheeks sag. Where did my bones go?
Wow. I have nothing to say. There are no words that can add to the moment I’m in. And so …