Working on the book, I find myself falling into expected dips of low energy. Stickiness. I ride the waves of excitement and melancholy. I remind myself that it’s ok to take a break and to journal out those moments that feel heavy.
You don’t lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time—the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone.