Even then, I couldn't latch on to a meaningful thought. I couldn't line up enough letters in a row to make any sense of it. I gazed at my journal but I couldn't open it, so I didn't write a word about it.
What is a mother to do while she waits? What can she say that is wise and true and fruitful? What is a writer to do when there are no words for the suffering and sorrow, the sweetness and solace that grapple for dominance every day of our lives? When the emotional roller coaster we have been riding goes flat on the page?
What difference does it make in the end as long as all is well?
|Caleb Alexander Gashinski...|
"To the world you may be one person,
but to one person, you may be the world."
~Dr. Seuss (among others)~