I wrote a rather lengthy essay for Segullah’s journal about my process of accepting my boys’ disabilities. It was published in the September issue of the journal, which you can find here.
As I read through this piece today, I had a moment of contemplation wherein I wondered if my stuff gets tiresome for people to read. Is it all just more of the same stories? Do people weary of my life? Because sometimes I do.
I did get a genuine thrill in writing this essay though, I can honestly say. There are a few images that played in my mind as I wrote, which I felt applied with symbolic astuteness to my life: sea glass, an open door banging in the wind, a tree on a hill, a night sky with a message written in the stars.
I like this imagery. When something clicks in a piece, I feel like I’ve reached up and plucked a ripe peach from a hanging bough.
So thanks, Muse. Here’s to you.