The last time I opened this blog was to post about our trip back in July. I remember sitting on the porch swing as I watched the kids swimming. I clicked "publish post" and I snapped my computer shut and jump back in the pool with them. We swam for another hour, and then the sun got mighty high in the sky and I thought it was time to take a break for the afternoon. We would reconvene our swimming after dinner. It was time to get out of the sun and for me to take a hot shower.
And then less than an hour later, our lives were turned upside down and nothing would ever be the same again.
I recorded much of our family's history on the pages of this blog, for the better part of eight years. I published the last thing on the day Garrett drowned. It's been very sad for me not being able to open it again. My life has been filled with endless pages of sadness in these last several months. I can't imagine it feeling like anything but doom and gloom ever again, but I have to believe that one day, it will feel different. I'm not foolish enough to believe it will ever be like it once was, but it can't always feel like...this.
Today while hiking I thought about our little corner of cyberspace and what it means to me (and my family) to continue in this endeavor of archiving the comings and goings of our lives. Even if no one reads it, I do it for me. I do it for us, our family.
So with a few clicks of my mouse and a new name for it, I've re-opened this sacred place in our universe.
Welcome home.
2 comments:
I'm so glad to see you resume your writing on your blog. I have had to use my mom's facebook page to keep up with you. I have also been following you on Instagram. Even though I have never met you, I keep your family in my thoughts everyday. Last year was a bad year for me as I lost my father and husband, but nothing like your loss as you lost one of the most precious things in a mothers entire world. I am so sorry for all of the pain that your family has had to endure.
Let me say that your writing resonates in me as I too have had many of the feelings that you have had. I cared for my father on hospice in the last days of his life and cared for him 24 hours a day at the end. I was the one that found him as I had fell asleep for just a little while I thought he was resting. Instead when I checked on him just an hour later he was gone and I could not get that last picture of him out of my mind. All I remember was screaming and sobbing and lifting him up to hold him. I don't want to say more because I know this must hurt you but I haven't found anyone that can comprehend my pain of those days when he left.
Thank you again for being brave enough to bare your soul for us all.
I'm not sure how to begin. Firstly, I agree with Janice and Jessica (above). You are brave for putting yourself out there for everyone to see. Secondly, I know exactly what you are going through. My four year old daughter was killed last year when a car drove through her day care. Lily was beautiful and funny and amazing...and her absence is a giant hole in our lives every day. Still, we have to keep going because our son needs us, and my husband and I need each other.
Anyway, keep breathing, and keep writing. ❤️
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