I didn’t know this happy, gifted 13 year old. That’s not the point. She’s gone. Another death within the Women Writing for (a) Change community in one week. Murdered. Too horrible to imagine.
I didn’t make it to yoga last night. I love the class, I love how I feel halfway through and for hours afterward. I couldn’t leave my house. All day something was not right — I was listless and unmotivated. The horror was taking its toll, not in tears, not in anger, just seeping slowly throughout my system.
The only thing that helped, finally, was ordering seeds from an online catalog. Organic herbs and vegetables. In my yard. I can do it! What fun, what righteous labor. I got the shovel and rake from my garage and started preparing ground.
This helped remind me about life and things growing. This physical activity in my imaginary garden helped dissolve the black clouds that hung over me. It’s not over yet. But now I can breathe again . . .