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“That you could do it,” Emily simply. “And you can. I’ve always said that.”
“I know you have,” I said. “And your encouragement means so much, but what if I can’t? What if I really just can’t write anything?”
“Is that how you feel?” Emily asked.
“Sometimes,” I said sadly. “Like today, you took the kids out so I would have the whole house to myself. It was amazing and everything was quiet, but still, I couldn’t write. It was like there was a wall separating me from the words, and nothing I did could break it down. I hate feeling this way.”
“What way?” Emily asked.
“Like a failure.”
The words fell from my lips before I knew they were coming. Emily’s face softened even more, and she stood up slowly. She walked over to where I was sitting and lowered herself into my lap. Playing with my hair, she held me close and sighed. My arms went around her waist, and I rested my head on her chest. It was the first time I’d been this close to her without popping a boner. Just holding her felt right tonight. I didn’t want sex. I just wanted this.
Emily played with my hair for a few minutes, silently comforting me in a way no one else could. As we held each other, I forgave myself for not being able to write. I let go of all my anger and frustration and just lived inside the moment. I closed my eyes and sighed, breathing in the scent of the most amazing woman I knew.
“Listen,” Emily said softly. She pulled away so she could look into my eyes. “You can do this. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you can. No matter how hard it gets, you just have to keep pushing through. If this is something you really want, and I think it is, then you can’t give up. You just can’t.”
“It is,” I said with a nod. “It’s so important to me, and I just know it will be important to other people too.”
“What’s the book about?” Emily asked. “Maybe I can help you get started.”
I paused. I hadn’t yet told anyone what my book was about. It felt odd to think about saying it out loud, but I knew I w
ould have to eventually. I looked up at Emily and closed my eyes for a second, preparing myself to let her further inside my soul.
“I want to write a book about grief,” I said. “A book for kids. Basically, my goal is to create a story that will help children not only understand and accept death, but also help them through the difficult times they’re going to face. It’s so hard for kids to lose someone they love. They don’t understand what happened or why it happened. If I can write something that might help with that, then, well, I’d been successful. I would feel like I finally did something right.”
Emily’s eyes were filled with tears by the time I finished talking. She smiled and wiped her eyes, sniffing softly.
“That’s amazing,” she said. “Sean, really, that’s wonderful.”
“You think so?” I asked.
“Of course,” Emily said. “Kids need something like that. You’re right. I’ve spent so much time around children, so I’ve seen the detrimental effect death can have on them. At such young ages, they aren’t emotionally prepared for something so final. It crushes them. If you can provide the world with something to help those kids, I think that would be amazing. More than amazing.”
“I do too,” I said honestly. “Which is why I feel so much pressure to get it right. Every time I write something, I throw it out because it doesn’t feel good enough. This story is too important to screw up, you know? I have to do it justice.”
“And you will,” Emily said with confidence. “But beating yourself up about it isn’t going to help you. If you keep putting all these expectations on yourself, you’ll never get it down. You’ll never even really start because you’re too inside your own head.”
“But what do I do about that?” I asked, feeling defeated.
“You have to find a way to let go,” Emily said. “You need to just relax and write, to rid yourself of the pressure and fear. Once you do that, you’ll be able to write the book without even trying. It’ll just come to you.”
“How?” I asked.
“Because you know what to write,” Emily said. “You have two children who lost their mother, Sean. You’ve watched the pain and fear and heartache wreck their lives. You, more than anyone, have a unique perspective. If you can just let everything else go and focus on them, on Tommy and Sarah, then you’ll be fine.”
I nodded and glanced down at my desk. My notebook was still lying open to my outline page. As I held Emily, I reread the outline and slowly shook my head. It all seemed wrong now. Emily was right. I knew exactly what to write. I just had to access that part of myself and focus on it. My mind was so full of fear and regret that I couldn’t even find a place to begin. As I sat there, I pictured Tommy and Sarah on the day of Telissa’s funeral. They were both so small that day, so young and naïve.
“When Telissa died,” I said softly. “Sarah kept asking me when she would be alive again. No matter how many times I tried to explain death to her, she just didn’t understand.”
“I’m sure a lot of kids feel that way,” Emily said.
“Tommy didn’t,” I said. “He understood almost too well. It was like he just shut down after it happened. He barely spoke or ate unless I forced him. For months, he was like a zombie. I found myself wishing he would share Sarah’s hope, if just for one day.”
“That’s understandable,” Emily said. Her voice was soft as she ran her fingers through my hair again.
I sighed. “You’re right,” I said. “I just need to focus on them. Tommy and Sarah are the reason I’m doing this. They are my inspiration.”
