From my study, I heard Emily washing the dishes. She’d already put the kids to bed and came back downstairs to clean up. I sighed and leaned back in my chair, listening to the sounds of her moving around in the kitchen. She was so close and yet, she felt so far away. I knew I’d been rude to her earlier, but I couldn’t help it. My frustration was getting worse with every passing second, and I couldn’t stop it.
All day, I tried to write just one sentence, just one word. My first draft was far from finished. I’d barely started it, and when I read over what I had so far, it was awful. Around two o’clock this afternoon, I trashed it and tried to start over. The only problem was, I had nowhere to start.
My head felt heavy with my own expectations, and I couldn’t clear it. I kept seeing Telissa’s face swimming before me, confusing me and making me ever angrier. Tommy and Sarah needed her so much, but she was gone. They didn’t have a mother to care for them like they deserved. It wasn’t fair or right, and all I wanted to do was change it.
But I couldn’t.
Instead, I could only try to write this book and hope that it might help other kids somehow. The story was so important that I didn’t want to mess it up. Writing for children was proving to be much harder than I’d anticipated had to find a way to craft the story so they would understand, so they could make sense of their grief. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but I never imagined it would be this hard.
I groaned and ran my hands over my face. My notebook was open in front of me, as well as my computer. I’d been switching between the two all evening, just trying to find a spark of inspiration. There was none. My writer’s block was so formidable that it scared away all inspiration and motivation. I ended up sitting alone in a dark study, staring at the ceiling and wishing for a visit from my muse.
As I sat there, I suddenly realized Emily was quiet. There was no longer any noise coming from the kitchen. I frowned and sat up, straining my ears to listen. I assumed she’d gone upstairs to bed, and I wasn’t surprised. After the way I treated her, I couldn’t expect her to stop in and see me tonight.
Just as the thought entered my mind, there was a soft knock on the door. I smiled, feeling relieved, and cleared my throat.
“Come in!” I called.
Emily pushed open the door and stepped inside. She didn’t meet my eyes, but she forced a smile on her face as she walked over to me. There was a plate of food in her hands. She set it down on my desk and then finally looked at me with hesitant eyes. I immediately felt worse about my behavior this afternoon.
“Thank you,” I said, gesturing toward the food. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I figured you hadn’t eaten much today,” she said with a shrug. “You need something if you’re going to keep going tonight.”
“I don’t know if I will.” I sighed. “I haven’t been able to write a word all day.”
Emily’s face softened as she sat down in an empty chair. She was sitting across from me, with the desk separating us, and I hated it. I wanted her closer. I wished she would come over and sit in my lap like she’d done before. I knew she was still upset about earlier so I didn’t push it. Instead, I just looked at her softly.
“I know I was an ass earlier,” I said. “You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry, Emily.”
She didn’t say anything. She just continued to look at me as if she were waiting for me. Maybe she was. Or maybe she just knew I had more to say. I sighed and leaned back in my chair again.
“I don’t know what to do,” I said. “I keep sitting down to write this book, but nothing comes out. Sometimes, I wonder if this was even a good idea. Me being a writer. I mean, what was I thinking?”
“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 would 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.”