12. Sometimes I write articles.

Ones that seem ineffective; that don’t quite capture what I want to say, probably because I have no idea what that is. As I wrote in my previous post, I don’t understand anything, and won’t, ever. That’s how it feels these days.

Here’s an article I wrote for Live Mom about our daughter Pearl, and perhaps even more, about August. As usual, I worked on it for weeks, refining it slowly, and felt good about it…until the day it was published, at which point I suddenly figured out a bunch of things I wish I’d added, deleted, or worded differently. Oh, well. I guess that’s the thing about writing; it’s never really done; there’s sort of no such thing. A written piece is a strangely living organism; as long as the writer is willing to keep reworking it, the piece stays dynamic, always ready to shift with each new day’s shifting perspective.

August, you were born exactly two years ago. (Since you were born at 1:24 AM on 1/12/10, I’m setting this post to publish at 1:24 AM on 1/12/12.) I miss you and love you so hard, every day. I look at your picture by my bed every night, and wish you were here. I wish Pearl could get to know her brother. I wish our missing family member could be with us once again. I still remember exactly how it felt to hold you, all nine pounds of you. You were warm and heavy and big, and so beloved. I hope you knew exactly how much.

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