How Mo(u)rning Finds You.

What I love best about reading is how I can explore other worlds and different concepts, most what I can only imagine or dream of. Reading also takes dedication and my undivided attention: I sit down, get comfy/cozy, and carve out some time to experience it. Do not get between me and a book for at least an hour– or 50 pages, whichever comes first. It's a sacred time where I focus my energy into something that sustains me.

Typically, I guess, I'm a fast and voracious reader. Unless my schedule is really busy I can get a book done within two weeks. At most, a month. This book is one of those:

I've done myself a disservice by reading back-to-back, books about grief. It can take a lot of out you. And Locke's was particularly potent for me because I've also had a loved one die from cancer.

I remember the flooring going out from beneath me when I got the call. Still in denial, asking is he coming home? Staying in bed for weeks, to the point where the school had to call me. Some of the tells I've seen in my own mom, a widow. The younger sibling having to deal with it, too.

The grieving that never heals, but you just learn to live with it.

How I never seemed to have found my footing since.

I finished the book on Father's Day, two days after Juneteenth (Locke is from Texas, so I just had to finish it!).

The book is finished. I learned a lot of Sicily, and appreciated how food seems to connect us all. And I really appreciate Locke sharing her own story of grief and how it made me feel seen.

Kat Blaque said recently, that she can tell when someone is experiencing that particular type of grief: when you lose a parent. I can't see it on myself, but I'm sure I can recognize it in others. And on my bad days you can see it on me.