Could You Write A Full Page?

A couple of weeks ago, I started seeing a new therapist.  I haven’t stopped seeing the original one as I’m not ready to let go of someone who has walked with me for so much of this journey.  That means I spend twice as much time sitting in a chair across from someone who is supposed to help me “figure this out.”

The new therapist and I have met twice, and this week will mark the third time.  The first two sessions were primarily introductions with the last one ending with a homework assignment for me…the first real step in the cognitive therapy.  She asked me to write out what I feel I’ve lost because of Melinda’s accident.  I must have looked shocked or something because she followed that up with a simple question.  “Do you think you could write a page or so?”   A PAGE!!!!!!!   I could out write Tolstoy!  She specifically asked that I not leave it until the last minute so that I didn’t feel pressured; I sat down this morning to compose “my page.”

I don’t claim to be a good writer, but it comes easily for me; I’ve kept journals of varying kinds since childhood.  It’s part of my life to express myself in written form, but this morning was different.   It took me nearly 3 hours to compose a single page of what I’ve lost.   I edited repeated because I couldn’t accurately condense into 250 words what my daughter meant and still means to me.

How do I, in a handful of sentences, a few paragraphs, convey the brokenness of my heart, my spirit, and my soul?  How do I convey so succinctly the impact my daughter’s 20 years of life have had on my life?   How do I fully explain the pain of not being able to hold her or hear her?  Impossible.  I couldn’t do it justice if I wrote an entire series of books let alone a single page, but today I pushed myself to revise and to condense this horror into a page long diary entry.

Of course I hardly touched on all the levels of complicated pains.   As I wrote, I got angry at times.   I shouldn’t have to be doing this.   Just 21 months ago today, I wouldn’t have been able to confine my joy to one page.   I would have needed volumes then too, but they would have been very different.

I wrote that single page today with so much missing, but I wrote it.  Could you confine your greatest pain to one page?   Maybe if I can learn to do that, I can learn to “move on.”  Doubtful.

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4 thoughts on “Could You Write A Full Page?

  1. That task seems nearly impossible. From the moment your child is born, you realize that this baby is as vital to your existence as the air you breathe. I don’t know how a parent can define something that encompasses every aspect of her heart and soul. What have we lost? The world!

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