A Draft

I used to write a lot. I started writing when I was in high school. I have journals and journals of what my life was like back then. I continued to write into college, documenting my day with its ups and downs. I wrote through my first year of teaching talking about the joys and challenges I faced.

Then I stopped. 

It was June 5, 1998 to be exact; the day my mother died. 

And I didn't write after that. Many journals sat on my shelf, their unused pages waiting for a story. I couldn't do it, and I didn't know why. 

Fast forward to July 2015. I was going through the Red Cedar Writing Project Summer Institute at Michigan State University when I attended a writing homecoming. During that homecoming I participated in a writing marathon, and sitting on the banks of the Red Cedar River, I wrote about my mom. 

It was a story that needed to happen. As I wrote, I held back tears then cried. I cried for all of those years that I didn't have my mom. I cried for the times I went to call her and forgot that she wasn't there. And I cried because it was a long time coming. 

After sharing my story with the group, I finally felt as though I found my voice again. And I have been writing ever since. 

Over the weekend I participated in the commenting challenge through Slice of Life. I read a post about a woman who found drafts that she had written but never finished. So tonight, I went through my journals and found a poem that I had never finished. Until now. 

A Draft 

Have you ever had a day

when the sun don't shine

and sometimes, you wish you were blind

so you wouldn't have to see 

the beating and the hatred

of what the world is really made of?

Have you ever had a day 

when the sun don't set 

and all you want to do

is fly in a jet

high and far your jet will fly

up above in the stormy sky?

Have you ever had a day 

when the sun don't rise

and you watch the world 

with your eyes

wondering, questioning if there will be good

and then you realize, tomorrow should?