Up until this day a year ago, I was pretty prolific. Then the bottom fell out. Actually, it was a year ago tomorrow that I received the phone call from my brother that our dad had died. The 10th, though, was the actual date of death. It's like there are two anniversary days to feel funky about.
I'm chuckling to myself that after such a long hiatus, these are the opening words I choose! How uplifting, huh? Sometimes my actions even cause me to wonder...
So. A year. A very, very difficult year has passed. A year of a tumultuous estate that remains contentious (why is the word 'content' part of 'contentious'?), a year of far too much drama in my extended family and in the congregation, a year of continued special needs parenting, and a year of financial woes that are similar to any family with a sole wage earner. I guess if I had the option, I'd want the last 12 months back. Then again, that'd be as nightmarish as reliving junior high. Perhaps I don't want them back afterall. Maybe it's a good thing that we don't have to decide how time moves. Thank God we are given friends who help us through it all.
I hope that as I begin to peek out of the darkness of grief my writing will begin to flourish again. I've been writing a great deal this year - just not here. It's been raw, aching words, sometimes full of anger or desperation, sometimes full of sadness or memories. Grief does that to our words. I imagine grief as a Halloween-looking, boney hand clutching my heart. Some days, its clutch is overwhelming; some days, it is a relaxed hand, still around my heart, ready to clutch at the most unexpected times.
