It’s been almost three years since I lost my son. This morning, after spending several hours on another project, my thoughts returned to the manuscript I started less than a year after his death. I thought I might pick up where I had left off and see it through to completion in the next year or so.
I thought about how I would structure the manuscript, what would be included and how I would tackle the more sensitive issues. To my surprise, I found a way around the ever present issue of the possibility of offending people with my words. I started to think, “I can do this!”
Then I sat at the computer and opened the old documents. I read through what had previous been written and by the time I got to the end, which was really nowhere near the end of the real story, I was in tears. Memories of those dark months resurfaced and I could feel depression creeping in on all sides.
I’m not ready to write that manuscript. Perhaps I never will be. I see no reason to put myself through something (again) that tore my life apart. For now, I’ve closed the documents and returned to the edit of Mirror Image – a safe story – because I know now is not the right time.