A few weeks ago, I was looking for a notebook for a reason I can’t remember. It was clearly important enough for me to find one because I looked in the guest room closet, a closet I rarely go into.
There, on the top shelf, was a notebook. I immediately recognized it as the one I got for myself after my son was born. I couldn’t remember exactly why I hid it, but I felt hostility towards it. I pulled it off the shelf and I opened it up.
Within seconds of opening the notebook, all the emotions I felt during that time 3 years ago came rushing in like a tsunami wave. The emotions crashed down on me harder than I expected. I remembered then why I had put this notebook away, hoping to never see it again.