Lately I have had precious little time, between travel to a conference for work, travel back East to a funeral, a visit from dear old friends, sick children, work, and, oh yeah, autism stuff. Not a spare moment for blogging could be seen for miles.
But the truth is, I have not felt like blogging.
Sounds funny, because I found myself saying at my conference, and back East, and to my dear friends, that blogging serves an important therapeutic role in my life. (C then handed me an article she'd clipped for me about the mental health role of the blogosphere.)
Sounds funny, too, because I have had much material all around me, and certainly could use a mental health boost.
But maybe I didn't want a boost.
Maybe I haven't wanted to feel better.
Maybe I knew I'd have to write about my grandma -- too hard -- or not write about my grandma -- too hard.
Maybe blogging about her -- or not -- seemed too much like real life marching on, moving away from the time when my grandma was still here, a phone call away, ready to reassure me, to love me, to understand me, to be my grandma.
Maybe blogging feels like living, and I've wanted to be in limbo.
Really, I've been too busy to blog, and I've been glad of it.
But really I'm too busy to blog tonight, too. And here I sit. So what does that mean?
I don't know. I'm not feeling particularly insightful.
But maybe I've had this nagging sensation in my heart of someone reassuring me, loving me, understanding me -- someone nagging me out of my limbo, back toward life.
I'm trying. I really am.
See you soon.
Love.
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Two kids, two full time careers - lots of people do it gracefully, but for me it's a challenge, particularly as I struggle with my boy, the rooster, and his "constellation" of health and developmental issues. Medicine so far fails to cure what ails us, so I'm trying a self-prescribed intensive dose of blogging to see if that does the trick.
3 comments:
Take your time, sweetie. Truly. You've had a major loss of someone who meant so much to you; it's only natural to WANT to be numb for a while. And it's okay (as long as it doesn't keep you from functioning in your daily, face-to-face life!) [Note I did not say "functioning fully or normally."]
Give yourself whatever time and space you need. We're here when you need us —whether it's for a laugh, a shoulder, a hug, whatever. xoxo
Grief is a strange and inexplicable feeling. When grieving, it's especially difficult to do the things that you usually enjoy. It's uncomfortable. Heck, your whole life is uncomfortable right now. People laugh and you think "don't they know ...?" You feel like you're on the outside looking it at your own life. Quietly.
Try to remember: whatever you are doing at any given moment is the most important thing to do AT THAT MOMENT.
You'll get there. And when you do, we'll still be hear, silently cheering you on.
xo
k
It means you're normal?
We'll be here waiting. We miss you. But you do what you need to do, when you need to do it.
***HUGS***
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