My grief is now real. My mother is gone.
It hits me every quiet moment that I manage to find for myself (traveling for 6 weeks alone with two children there have been few). I’m ok. I’ve just been stuck in a stage of disbelief that a funeral, shiva (7 days of mourning in Judaism), and a year of Mourner’s Kaddish (prayer recited by mourners when in a group of 10 or more) are meant to move me through had I had these rites. Now I’ve arrived. I’m just late.
I’ve also made it through endless bureaucracy, about 100 COVID tests, packed up an apartment, and took yet another pandemic flight with my two younger children to be with my second oldest in Israel.
I suppose I don’t need to mention that the last two weeks haven’t been my most productive.
I received editorial notes (my first!) on my MG and it’s not nearly as bad as I imagined though still quite a challenge. I also need to work through publisher edits on one of my picture books.
My next MG is coming along slowly, but I’m almost at the point when I can ‘hear’ my main character speaking and then I need to write her story. For me, that’s when it starts to come together and move from an idea into a workable narrative. The link might be grief as she (Frayda) lost her mother too.
Shavua tov (good week).