I’m writing a book.
A book of short stories — fictional, yes — but written based on the experiences of strong, brave, funny, wonderful women that I know.
I’ve written 3 already. They involve internal dialogue at a family lunch, dealing with loss (you can find that piece here on Medium), and sex.
But, the one I’m writing now — I love it so much — and I just want to cry with every word I write.
This woman had complications in surgery — where she was awake. She has so bravely explained what happened and how she struggled and continues to struggle with the memory— and how she has grown from it. She has bravely told me the details of what they needed to do — and what they did.
And each new detail makes me bite my lip and tear up.
My heart aches for this beautifully awful story.