Plastic Bag Stuck in a Tree

Hey there, plastic bag stuck in a tree. I noticed that you haven't gone anywhere in a while and you must be snagged pretty good. I'm sorry to say this, but I'm here to break your oath of silence while I break one of my own. You see, I'm finally alone, and I haven't really taken a minute to be alone in a while. 

I hope you're not cold up there. I'm cozy in a blanket on my new couch just enjoying this moment, but suddenly I realized that you've probably been watching me for some time now. I'm kind of a mess, but I'm slowly getting better. As my friend Gregg reminded me, recovery is a gradual process. Today I will just be low and start my climb up from here.

What am I supposed to do with these beautiful broken pieces? I'm told that when grief hits us we fall to pieces, but it's only when we fall to pieces that we can see how beautiful they are on their own. 

Insert: analogy of that form of Japanese pottery where broken pieces are put back together with gold.

It's you and me again, bag stuck in a tree. I think you're a Target bag. I've had hundreds of people write to me online and dozens call about my father, and currently I want nothing to do with them. I'd rather be here hanging out with you. 

I just want to be left alone and I feel terrible about it. When my father was passing, things got really rough upon his final days. It was a lot for my mother and I to deal with, but we handled it with grace and love. Now it's three days later (feels like a month) and I'm talking to a bag in a tree while curled up in blankets. 

I need some time, I guess, and I know deeply that I need something new to grab me by the soul. Maybe I'm looking for a book or something obvious, but maybe it's bigger than that. I just have to hold on and give my heart some time to heal.