Hello small space, hello beautiful people who check in.
There have been tumbleweeds around here lately. And that’s okay. I had to let go of one thing to make time for another.
My Saturday mornings (aside from this one) have been spent scouring over old words and adding new ones. Slowly, I can see a book emerging.
There are 20,000 words already. Not polished. Not overly structured. Perhaps not even making a great deal of sense. But they are there. The stepping stones to the finished thing.
It’s amazing looking back. I was fearful of it. I was worried about what I’d uncover and what I’d forget. But the internet has an amazing memory and all my emails from five years ago are still there. As immediate as they once were. I wrote a lot in emails – they almost became my journal over the time that I was deep in grief over losing Xavier.
Most of them were to a dear friend who helped me enormously in my grief as she navigated her own. I’m careful not to take her story, her words, along with mine.
Here is a small thing I found and there are so many passages like this:
When people offer “at least you have …” I think they are again failing to know what to say. We didn’t gain a son. In fact he has lost a brother and we have lost what we were as a family. In a way we have lost a piece of my eldest son, just as my husband has lost a piece of me and I have lost a piece of my husband. We are all different now. In my darker moments when I wonder about the point of it all I remind myself that my husband has already lost a son, he can’t lose who his wife is as well. I have never considered parting with this world. But if I fundamentally change as a person then I wonder at the fairness of that for those around me who have already lost so much. The thing is I no longer fear death – its either nothing or a place I can be with Xavier. Neither of those are particularly frightening for me. But the thought of those around me going through more pain is acutely frightening. At any point in one’s life there will be people worse off and people better off. The list of people worse off got a lot shorter. But thinking “things could be worse” is not particularly helpful. Thinking “this is what I have now, how can I make it better?” is moreso.
I was completely reflective during that period of my life. How often can we do that? And in that intense and constant reflection, I think I gained something like wisdom. The person that I am reaching back to over the internet ether is teaching me so much.
I thought I’d never forget. Never forget a certain feeling. There were hurts I believed would never heal. And yet they have. So many lessons that I thought would be etched into my mind. I have forgotten them. The perspective that I thought would never leave my sight has blurred.
The evolution of one’s soul always seemed a linear thing to me. That we grow wiser, more confident, more aware, more kind, more loving as we age. But as I look through the words, I realise that’s not true. There was something about that period of time that meant I was a different person. An emerging person who was incredibly thoughtful. And I mean that in the sense of someone who was full of very carefully measured thoughts. Of course it’s very painful. I spend time in tears. Yet it’s quite fascinating to be able to meet this person again.
In other parts of my life, I’m looking forward to school holidays – calendar here for those who count on it and are interested.
I’m also chairing a session at the upcoming ALMPA summit (conference for legal practice managers) around innovation and technology with some amazing folk.
The socials have become a bit distant for me, although I still check in. I’m certainly not lurking, posting, commenting and liking with same degree of intensity I normally would. The break feels good. It all feels like the right path.