I’ve decided to make these posts expand a bit more on the writing on my website: alexdavidwright.com. The most recent piece fell out of me a few days ago, in reaction to having moved into my late grandfather’s house. Taking emotion out of the situation, the move makes every kind of sense; indeed, I kept emotion paddocked in a little psychic holding pen, as has often been my wont (sometimes, I think I write because I go into deep denial about feeling anything, and the writing is me having to deal with it eventually anyway). And I was doing pretty well with it, too, but seeing his handwriting stopped me. I didn’t cry, but I stood in the garage and I spoke to him. I told him I’d look after his house.

I’m no grave-visitor. It doesn’t do it for me; it isn’t how I mourn. And I don’t speak out loud to the dead because I don’t believe they can hear me. But when I saw the pragmatism of his clean, slanted hand, it brought him back. It summed him up so perfectly. He’d built his own conservatory. This was his home, until dementia saw it taken away from him.

The piece has been well-received; the best part of it has been people getting in touch to talk about their own experiences. Writing helps us communicate, even if we’re not sure how or why we’re doing it.

You can read the post here.