"Write the thing that scares you."
"Writing will heal"
Here I am. Well over a year since I've last sought out this space to type. Most of you know me. Most of you know the events of this time. Though some of you, in the wonderful way the internet works, just stumbled here.
You see, I haven't written much recently. What I have written has brought tears and an upheaval of feelings that I'm not always ready to process. Emotions I have to function with despite their debilitating nature.
Writing for me is a creative and cathartic process. It comes when it wants. Sometimes I have much, sometimes I have little, sometimes I have nothing. For months I've had basically nothing. Writing also comes many times when I have a resolution. Insight. Enlightenment. Learning. Joy.
But my life for the past 15 months has no resolution. And I wish I could say something different about those other words I listed. However, aside from the little people who run and giggle around my house, joy has been in short supply too.
Months ago I was having a day. Lost. Discontented. Confused. I've spent many of these months confused. I hate being confused. It's the worst. What, how, why, when, who. All of those questions seemed overwhelming and unanswered. I came to my husband with them. He listened as I expressed, what I'm sure was a jumble of words and emotions. But then he asked. "What about your writing? Why don't you write anymore?"
He knows I am a writer at heart. He knows this is how I process and express.
I told him I had no resolution for my situation. I told him I didn't know how to say what has happened to us. To him.
Do you know what that man did for me? He gave me permission to not say. You see, I'd been thinking one word at a time. Sentence fragments. Unable to string the words together because they hurt so desperately. This blog is about my life and my life was the same but so utterly different I didn't know how to catch up. The fact that this shocking, unexpected, deep grief is now a part of my story. You guys, I didn't know where to begin. I felt overwhelmed by everything that happened. About every detail that transpired. I wasn't sure what to share what to not share. How to say it, how to not say it.
"I don't know how to say, 'This happened to me, to you, to my mom, to my dad, to my brother, to Kenz, to the kids. To him."
"Just say that."
Wow. Liberating. He is known for a man of few words. I should take lessons.
He gave me permission to not draw a picture. To not share every detail that was traumatic and heartbreaking and overwhelming.
In July my brother Aaron was in a car accident.
The sentence makes me sick, takes my breath, and tears roll.
He opened his eyes to Glory on July 9th, 2017.
We had lunch together that day. He took Millie swimming and played fetch with his dog. My other brother and his wife, my parents, and Aaron were all at the same concert that evening. Hours later he was gone from our sight but never our hearts. Left us floundering this side of heaven. We found ourselves in a nightmare we can't wake up from. 23. Healthy. Fun. Kind. Hardworking. My brother.
6 days later. When we needed good news. When we needed a miracle most, his sweet and spunky girlfriend, who was also in the accident, opened her eyes to Glory.
The wave of grief became a tsunami.
I don't post this to earn accolades or attention. Pity or anything of the sort. I only feel that if I am ever to continue on with my writing this piece must be wrote. Because it is such a part of my story. Our story.
I got these words out on a normal Wednesday afternoon. Sunlight shining in my window, kids singing around me. They came so I wrote. I don't know why or really how, but they came. I don't know if they will come again.
I don't know if I will write more about grief, my marriage, my kids, my family, my house, or our business. I just don't right now. But I do know that I will write this. That's all I got right now.
Blessings.
