Sometimes my writing reads more like entries in a diary. They start with the hard facts to process and then the heart takes over and bleeds on paper. The thing about diary writing is they never resolve. There is never a neat and tidy ending because you don’t know the ending. You are living in the moment at that very moment. The only resolve is closing it up and having a good cry.
Today I’m writing in my diary at Live Brave, Not Broken.
September 6, 2013
I woke from a dream this morning. And I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since.
In my dream Dad was alive. But strangely, I and everyone else in the dream knew he had passed away—He was the only one who didn’t know the truth.
And yet, even though I knew the truth—I was the only one in the dream who saw him. I was the only one who spent time with him and talked with him. I lived out what he believed was true. And I never told him the truth of his existence. I never told him he had already died.
And so I savored the moments with him. We spent time together sitting outside on a wood decking in the evening, and well…
Read the rest of my diary entry by clicking here.