For someone who has loved writing literally ever since I could hold a pencil, it makes me a little sad that during this time, instead of a flood of words, I can’t find a way to string words together that really reflect what I’m feeling. I know a large part of it is that … I don’t want to spend a lot of time thinking and analyzing and ruminating. I want to fast-forward five years into the future, I want to feel stable again, I want my life to be about more than just grief. But at the same time – the grief keeps her here, in a way. When I can’t say that it just happened, when my life opens up again … there are just so many years ahead of us. Limping along this way, trying to get along with only one leg, trying to manage without one of my senses – it just seems so exhausting when I think of it.
Then I remember to pray that He would carry me through it, even if it means I have to pray that for the rest of my life. I feel like I will always be grieving – for my babies, for my mom, for what our lives were like before the word cancer was a part of it … for those days in South Windsor in the early 2000s when we would sit on the kitchen counters drinking tea and talking about the new Harry Potter book, back when I thought my life was really complicated. I had no idea.
I can’t seem to write my way through it. I can’t seem to put this into a cohesive narrative. I think maybe it’s that I’m trying to talk too much about it, when maybe that’s too much for me right now. Maybe I just need to talk around it.
I also find I have no memory. I don’t come to this site very often, but when I do, I’m completely surprised to see the most recent blog post, as I have absolutely no memory of having written it.