So what wasn't I done with and what does this blog have to do with death? My father. My moral compass...my hero...my greatest champion took his own life in November of 2008. Throughout the immediate days surrounding his death I found myself saying over and over, "I wasn't done yet...I just wasn't done." And I still am not. These hours, days, months that mark the time without him have been overwhelming and at moments, unbearable and yet the clock marches on with cruel purpose. I have always been a writer...words are important...solid. But my words have flown away with him. Wherever my father is, there too is a pool of all of the words I needed to say, wanted to say all drowning together far from my pen. I have spent the past year and a half trying to piece myself back together...trying to determine just what I believe and how I believe it. Trying to come to terms with questions no one can ever answer for me and not lose myself. So here I am. I do not promise poetry. I do not promise fine prose. I promise nothing except that this blog will be honest no matter how dirty the feelings. I simply am not done.
