I started to write something this morning about the reading of names that took five hours today, and about trauma, and the Towers, and what that day was like in this small apartment that day. But words weren’t working, and I didn’t want to think myself out of simpler feelings.
So instead, I’m posting this drawing, which brought me some peace in the months after. It brought me release more than peace; I remember just weeping when I first turned the page of the volume it appears in.
It was drawn by Renee French. It doesn’t have a name, but I’ve always referred to it as Wish.