I have had an overwhelming response of people thanking me for the poem I shared the day Mr. Scott died. Enough of you have asked me about its origin, I suppose I'll share.
A couple years ago after leaving a wedding shower I'd planned for a friend of mine with a group of women I knew would not much longer be my friends, I pulled over on the side of road and cried for what seemed like an hour. Under a street lamp, I sobbed for the loss of my marriage which was quickly ending, the loss of friendships, which seemed to rest unexpectedly on a crumbling cliff, and the fact that at that moment, it felt very much like there was not a soul to help me survive feeling quite that sad.
I am fortunate that I had a way to express sadness to soothe myself through the darker days and the worst of nights during that time. This was one of those unexpected curves, and the possibility of veering off the winding road seemed all too possible. I was terrified. I was sad. But the next morning, I awoke and I wrote.
in the morning by Summers McKay