It is sad. Now, truly just a few weeks shy of a year ago, rather than just being a few months ago (like I pretend it is) - I was having a really nice bottle of wine at a cute little restaurant with a friend and before our appetizer even came out she looks at me and says, "So. You really suck at blogging now. Did you know that?" I took an abnormally large swig of wine-swallowed it, and answered back, "Yes." I totally and completely was overwhelmingly aware. "Why? What happened?" My friend really wanted to know. Shit, I really wanted to know. This is the part I kind of get hazy on in my memory- did I tell her- because that would have been a long long story- and one that I am not entirely sure makes sense? Or did I just shrug it off and blame the easiest targets- my kids? While that might be a part of the puzzle, a piece - to my blogging suckage- it certainly wasn't (isn't...obviously) the complete picture.
Here is what I can make of things- sort of make of things. And it isn't an excuse. Not really, it is just sort of how things started. Around March 2012 we learned that Jamie's mom Rene' was sick. Really sick. She had an extremely rare type of cancer and doctors honestly weren't sure what to do with her. While we remained hopeful- the cancer ate her alive. Literally. And although she had so much to live for- at some point- the fire of her spirit (which had instantly made me fall head-over-heels in love with her) and the light of her eyes faded and the will to fight got up and left her. She died in November of 2012- nine months after her diagnosis. I was angry. So angry. With her. Which, I know, makes me sound like an ass. She left my husband, and our 3 babies who loved her and needed her. (Love and need her still.) I wish she would have been more proactive when she first knew she was sick. I wish she would have fought harder. Lasted longer. Not given up. I wish she could see my husband now and tell him how proud she is of him- and for him to know it is true. I wish she could look Avery right in the eye and tell him that he is, and always will be, hands-down her favorite. I wish she could tell Ezra he is beautiful inside and out, and that she re-discovered love the moment he arrived. I wish she could hold Iris and snuggle her and they could fall asleep with each other, warm and comforted and safe. I wish she knew that Iris is so like her, in so many ways. I wish.... The wish list is long. It is so horribly selfishly long- and it gets longer everyday. I miss her. And I have been so angry with her. So selfishly angry. And this was the beginning. Or the ending rather, of my writing. The time when I quit cold turkey. This was yet another wake up call. Life is so precious. So short. Why was I sitting in front of a computer screen? This is where the year long gap happened between here and my old blog, Picked. I felt guilty. Writing. Writing about * insert a theme here* when I just lost someone I loved so much. It felt trivial and silly and I couldn't- couldn't do it. And, at the time- or all through that time rather, I don't know that I could have written much of anything aside from fluffy posts of nothing that connected to my heart, or angry-ass posts that were too connected to my heart - that even I would not have wanted to read, or re-read or re-visit. And then, I didn't want to tell my children that I didn't want to play or be with them because I needed to write. What would Rene' say to me ignoring them? She would have loved to play with them. A part of me used my kids and Rene' as an excuse to not be here. To be anywhere but here where I more often than not show myself- or the self that I am always trying to be. Supposed to be. Trying to be. Want to be. And the gap between one post and the next post became ever wider. Then it seemed ludicrous after such a long break (break-up) to just jump back in again, so I made a new home here. And I like it here, but something was missing.
It is hard to saddle up again. To put pieces back together- when there are pieces missing. Especially when you aren't even sure what those pieces are. You just know that something is missing. I had shut a door, and was not going to let myself go through it.
Then, I went to Floret last August and I took a test there that revealed I *need* to write. It is part of who I am. That I am not being completely true to who I am if I don't honor this seemingly small detail of my makeup. That workshop rocked my boat so hard. (SO F*ING HARD!) In so many ways- and (maybe) someday we will pull out a chaise-lounge and we will discuss all of that, you and me.... CRAP! Last August! Shit! We are ever so much closer to a year now since I was there than just a few days ago like my memory has seemed to tricked my mind into believing. The effects of the workshop, those waves are still circling ripples that wash up onto and into my heart. I have been challenged by my lovely girls in Washington to push myself this year, (and by that, I mean like 2015...I haven't been curled up in the fetal position since August...just since February.) and slowly ever so snail-like slowly I am working on it. (Pushing out of what I have been comfortable with- because, it is an uncomfortably comfortable bunch of excuses I have been padding myself with.) Working on being a truer version of me. It isn't easy- and maybe, it is the easiest thing in the world- I am still working on that bit. And here is a (my) revelation: my kids will be okay if I write to you. I actually do have the word "no" somewhere in my vocabulary. They know if I don't play princesses or My Pretty Pony, or pirates with them exactly when they demand it, that I will- eventually. And they will be okay. I love them. Saying no doesn't change that. And, Rene' was such a huge supporter of my work. Maybe the anger tables would turn if she knew I wasn't writing, and using her as an excuse. She loved to read my blog. (Ah! She and my mom!) And maybe, just maybe I will love being here again too, if I give myself permission to open up that door, and walk right through it. Knock knock, it's me.