The photographers were here for almost five hours yesterday. Hours I spent sitting in this chair holding both Abi and Charlie. Because they REALLY wanted to go into the kitchen and run through the many cables and cords.
So I sat with one hand keeping them from jumping down, and with the other I worked online, read and passed the time. I never went in there. I stayed out of their way completely.
And then I read about Michelle’s dying. I knew it was coming. But still it twists your heart. Freezes you in disbelief.
She had two boys that will grow up without a mama. She was around 40, and should have had many years ahead of her. But cancer stole that.
As bloggers, we mostly know one another through blog posts and emails. Yet there is a connection that is strong and vital and gathers us all together into a community.
Otherwise, we might never have crossed paths.
I love this thing called blogging. It has allowed me to meet people from all over the world through my computer. Just because we may never come face to face does not lessen our deep feelings of kinship.
I am in a reflective mood today. One where I sit and stare out the window at the bare branches across the way. I go back in time and remember why I started to blog, though it was really begun on a whim.
I was at a crossroads. I needed to lay down a stone at a certain juncture that said: “I was here.”
It was a much needed way to sort my thoughts, and it became a way of communicating with all of you.
I feel a sense of belonging in this diverse place where we share our home and lives and hopes and dreams. It is rooted in one’s nature, this needing a place to belong.
Writing has always been therapeutic for me. And, though I lost all my blog posts last July, still I feel they are somehow bound together in one place. Years of words. Never to be retrieved. But they said: “I was here.”
Our experiences mold us into the women that we are. Every painful loss stitches a wound that becomes a scar within our souls.
We have mettle, a word you don’t hear much anymore. We become strong as we trudge through life, soldiering on through many losses as time moves forward. Lost loved ones. Lost love.
I am reminded of one of my favorite poems by Robert Frost, “Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening.” I have always love this last stanza that is filled with such meaning for me.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
– Robert Frost
Life is a journey. Whether long or short we do not know. What we truly and undeniably have is this very moment in time.