No. 007: Dusk Till Dawn

A collection of stories and reflections capturing the beauty of the moment, from somber shadows to the first light of hope.

No. 007
Monday, March 20, 2023

Hey friends,

Ever get those Monday mehs? It's that unique Monday feeling where I'm kind of motivated for a new week, but also kinda grumpy-pants about the end of a lazy weekend. I'm just stuck in the middle, feeling meh about everything.

Luckily, I had chocolate and kitty snuggles to get me through yesterday. Tuesday's looking way brighter! ☀️

Anyway, here we are again, halfway through another month. It’s been an eventful one, full of unexpected twists and gut-wrenching turns, soaring heights and heart-plummeting lows. I could probably write a country song about it all.

But rather than my usual crooning, I've got something different for you today.

I recently took a course about writing on Twitter and, and though the little bird isn’t really my jam, it's pushed me to try shorter forms of writing. I've been experimenting with mini-stories, haikus, and short notes.

This newsletter features a collection of those small pieces, little snippets of thoughts and feelings I've gathered recently. Somehow, these raw moments create a more beautiful story than anything I could've planned.

I hope your week is amazing, friend — turning those mehs into melodies and leaving you smiling, ready for what's next.

Until next time,

Erin

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Hold On Tight

It was an average Saturday afternoon when they said they were planning to take their own life that night.

It’s a shocking thing to hear, the imminent threat of the end of a life as essential to your own as oxygen. Questions reverberated in the empty space that the shock blasted open. 

Is this real? This is a joke, right? Do they mean it?

Surely they’re wrong, because I would know, wouldn’t I? How did I miss the signs that they’d reach this point? Is it an impulsive cry for help or an actual plan, and does that even matter? Where are they, how can I get to them this very instant, how can I stop this from happening?

The desperation clawed at my insides so viciously I felt I might burst.

I’ve felt a similar feeling before, thirteen years ago. A similar empty tomb blasted within me when I peered through the glass at the uniformed men on my doorstep. Thoughts whizzed and bounced like racquet balls then too, occupying the empty space as I opened the door to the moment that would change my life forever. 

Is this real? He’s just injured, right? Do they mean it?

Surely they’re wrong, because I would know, wouldn’t I? How could I not feel it when his heart stopped beating? How could something as intimate as his last moment of life possibly occur without me? What about the baby, how can we be a family without his father, how is this happening?

You can't talk to death. Death doesn't answer questions or consult your wishes. Once it grabs on tight, you can't change its course.

But this time, I could intercept. We could change the course.

Relief flooded through me like a tidal wave when I saw them, and I raced down the pavement to grab on tight. They had chosen to reach out instead of giving in to darkness, and I wouldn’t let go. Together, we could navigate through uncertainty.

Together, we could answer the questions.

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Note to Self

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High-koo

Kids running 'round wild

Like a herd of cattle — child,

Mama's gettin’ riled.

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The Sun Will Rise

In the stillness of early morning, she sat by the window, looking out at the muted purples and blues of a moment suspended between night and day. The pre-dawn light is a moment of anticipation, a time when anything is possible, and everything is waiting to be born. Her mind was a swirl of thoughts, a tapestry of memories woven together by the threads of her dreams.

She felt the weight of responsibility bearing down on her, a heavy cloak that she couldn't shake. The needs of others clamored for her attention, pulling her in different directions, like the tide that ebbs and flows along the shore. They nipped at her toes, beckoning her with their swells, threatening to pull her under if she wandered too far.

She thought of Virginia Woolf, and the waves that crashed against the rocks in To the Lighthouse. She thought of her own great lake of melancholy.

"Lord how deep it is! What a born melancholic I am! The only way I keep afloat is by working."

Beyond the curtain, the sky was a canvas of muted colors, a watercolor wash of blues, purples, and pinks. The stars still glittered in the heavens like tiny diamonds scattered across the sky. But they were beginning to fade, the light growing stronger like a flame that burns brighter with each passing moment.

She yearned to use her words for something as majestic as that sky, that moment on the precipice. The longing burned in her chest, aching to create the images that were alive in her mind's eye — the scent of lilacs in the spring breeze, the taste of sweat and salt on her lips, the anticipation of closeness in the cold dark night.

But still she sat, watching, keeping company with the weight of the world. It seemed to hold its breath along with her as they waited for the first rays of the sun to crest over the horizon.

Slowly and all at once, the day was born, colors spilling across the horizon.

She stood and turned away from the window.

Like the fading stars and the growing light, the moment had passed. She would move forward with her day, fulfill her duties. But her passion would linger on, the tiny seed of her words patiently waiting, nurturing into something beautiful as she made lunches and folded laundry, the scent of toasted bread and warm linens filling the air.

One day, when it was ready to bloom, her story would burst forth with the ferocity and life of the sunrise. Until then, she would continue to study the birth of each day with patience and acceptance, knowing that the sun will rise.

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What If?

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The end is near! Just kidding, it's right here. Thanks for joining me and always remember: life is short, so eat dessert first. Until next time! 🍰👀🙌