I keep meaning to write it down. Why haven't I?

You know this moment: lying awake, running the words in your head — what you'd want your son to know, what you never quite said to your mother. Morning comes. The words go back into the dark, unwritten, and you tell yourself you'll do it soon. The gap is not love. You have plenty of that. The gap is the size of the task you've built in your mind — you imagine writing everything, to everyone, perfectly, so you write nothing, to no one. A jar too full to pour spills nothing at all. If thinking about your own death brings up fear or grief that feels too heavy to carry alone, that is worth bringing to a counselor or someone trained to hold it with you. This page is for the ordinary weight — the wanting to leave something behind, and not knowing where to start.