Everything but the writing

On Motherhood: Maybe one day I’ll learn to coexist with the person I used to be and the person I am now.

I received a notebook as a gift. The cover was blue and it said, “Notes for my son” across the front. I wrote to you as if you were already here. The words poured out of me like tree sap. Thick and sweet and full of substance. The kind of words that nourished. I wrote to you as if I’d known you my whole life. I believe a piece of me has always known you…