Truth.

Truth: Friday will mark three months since my father-in-law passed away. I think about this day, about him, about the sounds and textures and feelings of July 9, 2020 every day, multiple times a day. I have so much to say about what he meant/means to me, about our collective loss, about how much of a void I feel. Of how he was the anchor of all that has come before me here in France and how that gave me comfort, almost a validation, of my right to be here as a member of his family. Of the experience as a parent having to have figured out how to talk to our then almost four-year old daughter about what was taking place. About how to support my husband. About how to still support my husband. About how to support my mother in law. About how to look ahead. How to re-imagine the holidays. About how bare the dinner table feels. About how I close my eyes to hear his “Coucou Joani”. About how much I don’t understand cancer and why so much bad happens to people who are so good.

Truth: I go to the woods and talk to him out loud. I’m a bit lost in some ways right now, and I take to the woods to share out with him. To get some kind of sign. The wind blows almost on cue, and I’d like to think that’s him. Shaking trees to mimic a shaking head to tell me to not give up.

So much to say. I’ve been holding it all in.