This post marks my 300th blog.
I wrote earlier in the year about re-committing and refocusing on writing here, as well as other projects. I’ve loved every minute of it. I love it so much, I had to think about why I’d reduced my output to a trickle. And the answer is simple: life happens.
But more accurately, it’s more a matter of life and death. Not the dramatic meaning of that turn of phrase. But much more literal. I began this blog in December of 2010 to give me something to focus on–something that brought me joy and escape–in the wake of Ken’s cancer diagnosis. It was the second diagnosis in two years.
In spite of the fact our lives had been upended by the first diagnosis, a life-altering surgery, a bionic-level recovery and a new computer-chipped prosthetic, so many more important things remained the same. My love for Ken and my resolve to see him through this daunting final journey was unshakable. His grace and humor, and passion for living until it wasn’t an option. We did so many things right at a time so many things were going wrong.
I recall that once I understood Ken was home for hospice, there was only one thing I wanted to write about: what I was thinking and feeling. And that’s where the true emotional thread of this blog began. But as I look back, I’m kind of shocked to realize I only wrote six blogs during that time in hospice while he was alive. Then upon further reflection, I remember I didn’t have–or want–a lot of free time while he was here. It was after June 1, 2011, that my creative energy was channeled into hours and hours of pecking at the keyboard. In our apartment. At neighborhood coffee shops. On the L. Anywhere I was. Ideas and emotions and feelings poured out of me at a pace I could barely keep up with. I recognize that feeling very well because it’s happening to me again.
I shouldn’t wonder why. I’m in the same place I was when I started this blog. Dealing with grief and loss. Kallie was my ride or die. Integrating her into my life is so tightly interconnected to Ken’s death. In the months after she died, I found myself experiencing so many of the same feelings I had when Ken died. Confusing, to say the least. But it was those same feelings that I didn’t quite understand or know what to do with that prompted me to start pouring them out on my computer screen.
The difference this time is that I have gained valuable experience because this ain’t my first rodeo. I’ve written thousands of words about grief and loss. I know what to do with my feelings. I know how to process them. And that usually leads me to a journal or a keyboard. It’s practically who I am. Who I’ve become.
And it’s thanks to Ken (who made me promise him I’d never stop writing) with a gentle reminder from my sweet Kallie.
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