It’s been a struggle to write this week.
My uncle — who because of age and circumstances was more like my grandfather, so I called him Pop — died on Father’s Day. And I’ve been living and working under a shadow ever since.
Hard enough to lose him. Harder still, because I couldn’t make the trip out to Texas for his funeral, because of the pandemic.
He’s gone, but I didn’t get to say goodbye.
So I’ve been soldiering on. Writing a paragraph or two, at least, every day.
But each word is a struggle. And if I stop and think about anything for too long, my mind drifts back to losing Pop, and I come undone for a while.
Stay safe out there, folks. Wear your masks. Wash your hands.
Write what you can, when you can.