I said tonight that I have no words, that there are some things that are just too big for words to touch.
Yet here I am, writing. Typing. The fixer in me is not satisfied.
I need to hug and to heal and to help, perhaps selfishly. The fixer in me needs to do something.
But what can I do? When the worst that can happen has happened, what can possibly make it any better? What can make it right?
You see, there are no words, there is no quick fix, no reset button, no recovery mode. The process of grief is slow and schizophrenic and who am I to try and make it any different?
I cannot fix this and perhaps the fixer in me needs to be silenced for a while.
Maybe, sometimes, we do not need to be fixed, we just need to be loved.
Perhaps, right now, to love is enough.