Member-only story
The Wind Phone
Searching for Words in the Hollow Depths of Grief
Emotional whiplash
I’ve been stuck.
I’m no stranger to writer’s block, but this is more than your typical bout of creative paralysis.
My father passed at the end of January. Since then, I’ve felt like the full gamut of human emotion has been spinning precariously on a flywheel for which I’ve lost the controls, axis unfixed, tossing thoughts and feelings into every nook and cranny of my mental space without respite.
I’ve been finding it difficult to write, but I have to start somewhere.
The calm
I spent the holidays at home with my family, as is our annual tradition. Everything was fine. We had a lovely visit, lots of good talks, and made plenty of festivity-laced memories. I returned to Prague, where my partner and I have been living for the past ten years, ready to spend some much-needed time in my own space, and confident that everything back home — my father’s eighth-decade health issues, my greater family’s interpersonal quibbles, and the physical presence of all parties involved — was under control.
