The Gift

Writing blogs saved my life.   Saved me from a fate worse than death.  Became the lantern that lighted the way in blackness so black I easily could have fallen into a bottomless quagmire. And that's not hyperbole. Literally, I. Did. Not.  Want. To. Live. Because. Courtney. Had. Died.  If I could have figured out a way to die, trust me, I would have.  I saw no need to remain in the abyss---not for the sake of Tracey, my surviving daughter; my three grandchildren, three siblings, in-laws, countless nieces and nephews, cousins, or friends. 

No one! Nobody!.  I just wanted to stop the interminable, piercing pain.  The unfairness of it all! Why were deadbeats; thieves and robbers; and legal, and lawless criminals still breathing in and out? Why? Why? If Mother were still alive, I might have asked her.  Otherwise, I sought no answers, really, because there were none.  Only questions.

Ironically, Sherry, my 24-carat friend, had asked two, simple-sounding questions the evening before Courtney died so suddenly:  "Ever think of writing blogs? What would you write about if you did? Let's face it, evidently, the "Great American Novel" you've been "writing" for years is collecting dust somewhere." 

Nah, I'm not interested.  My novel just spends a lot of time percolating, that's all. Then Courtney died. And I marched with precision, like the military on parade, toward bitterness, anger, unbelievable distress, sadness, bargaining, helplessness, and hopelessness (to name a few). When my inexorable march continued, Sherry came to my home this time.  Hmm.  

"Let me show you how a blog works.  No, I won't accept that tired excuse that you don't have the attention span you think you need.  You do! You can!  Spoken with equal certitude.  While I now label her "Shero Sherry," "Stubborn Sherry" may have been just as fitting.  She sat in my office and exhibited patience I thought only Mother had.  Sherry cajoled, explained, tutored, and convinced me that, indeed, "I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul."Pshaw! 

I started blogging.  It became a bridge, a path that captured uncontrollable pain (which willy-nilly ebbed and flowed).  I released the pain on paper.  Blogs bubbled up like baking soda in vinegar and frothed over.  Whenever I remembered, I ended blogs asking you to respond with your thoughts.  Many of you did, and I loved it.

Some readers even wanted to thank me by sending a token of appreciation but didn't know how to do it.  Neither did I.  Enter Sherry, again.  It would've have taken me forever, but she added a "Donate" button, so now you can share as you like.  She also showed me how to access "Archive," located near the bottom on the left side.  That's where blogs are filed by month and date, starting with the most recent and going back to the first ones in 2018.   She showed how, if you click "Follow," it notifies you of each new blog.

I especially want to "hear" from you.  If COVID-19 has done nothing else, it's highlighted the value, as well as our human need, to reach out and touch somebody's heart, to soothe, support, and strengthen! I'll try to remember to attach a "Comment" invitation to each subsequent blog.  But if I don't,  charge it to my head and not my heart and respond, anyway.  Knowing that you're reading the blogs helps me heal.  I hope they do the same for you.  

THANK YOU!