Lost Journals

Grief, that inner weeping child I call Sophie, has become an everyday part of me. Sophie sits in a corner waiting for a quiet moment to tug on my coat sleeve. Won’t you come play with me? Won’t you hold me?

I go many days without talking to Sophie. She gets upset, throws things and sneaks up on me, scares me into crying. Sophie has a way of doing this while I’m at a party, at the grocery store, or watching a movie with friends.