There is a sweet agony of holding secrets/special knowledge that doesn’t matter any more: like how Morgan liked her tea and how to make the perfect soft boiled eggs she loved.; just where to scratch the nape of her neck while combing out tangles; which were her favorite jeans?, and how translucent her baby eyelids were as she nursed.
All these intimacies were woven into the fine strong cloth of our lives: but now is nothing but a snarl of thread, devoid of meaning, bits of nothing. We must pick up that tangle, unravel the knots, and weave a new cloth. I know it can be done; but it is slow and tedious work.
It is difficult to take up such a task when we feel so slowed and hindered by sadness. We miss you, Morgan. Help us find the strength to somehow encapsulate this pain and find a new way, a new life. We are moving on, not without you, but carrying you inside rather than walking beside you.
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