The light slants differently

My private clients get 24/7 electronic access to me. Their messages are the first place I go when I’m not teaching or coaching.

What they message me depends on what they want to work on. Some want to notice urges. Some want to plan meals. Some want to honor hunger. Some want to sense fullness. Some want to grieve losses. We tailor everything to where they are, to what they need.

Andrew writes at night. His wife left and evenings are the hardest. When the light wanes, the past seems eerily fake and the ache feels awfully real.

Andrew is learning to binge less on pancakes and he is finding a new softness in sentences. Andrew used to try to fill what felt empty. Now he tries to capture what feels lost, on his own terms, in his own words . . .

One side of the bed
Leaves a legacy behind
It’s a private one
Except where it was laid
Sometimes gently
Sometimes urgently

Funny
The difference between
Those two words is
Those two letters
I never noticed that before

There is no blame
Well, maybe just a little
Because when it’s midnight
I hardly know
much more
than that she is gone

And then, and then
There is a dawn that comes
But not in the way it did for years
When the light finally rises
It seems to slant differently without her
And one day I will let that be okay