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Dear my girls,
I often place my hands on the space you both used to sit.
I press down like an iron remembering the warmth you both left that now feels cold and numb.
Your absence is reflected in the most intimate of moments. I have photos to remember you by but it is way too early to gaze at those and what purpose would it serve?
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But like an unfurling fist that has been clenched for way too long, your loss has returned oxygen to aspects of myself that I buried under my to-do list and tasks that filled every moment of my waking life.
I no longer fight back tears, but instead, I cry. Silent cries, loud cries, angry cries, marathon-like cries, ugly cries. I think I've experienced them all.
If the body keeps the score, I've been on a losing streak until now.
I'm no longer anxious about the appearance of my body, but in awe of what my body can do.
And after all this time, I realised that I was only ever in a competition of one.
You both reminded me of the influence I have as a mother, a sister, a daughter, a wife, and a friend.
I'm determined.
I've always known that about myself, but I am now using that to normalise living life without replacing the both of you.
My creativity is no longer scooped up like leftover crumbs from a hastily put-together dinner.
Here it is: my creativity on a platter. Well considered, deeply reflective, in the form of this letter.