I’ve been quiet because another part of my life has now been tainted with that dark black smoke of grief that slithers in when you least expect it and leaves you breathless, coughing, and the dust of it settles over everything for so long it just seems to become part of daily life.
My next blog was going to be about Stitch – how we had expected to get a dog but got a monster, how he had opened doors for me here that I would never have walked through if it wasn’t for his ridiculous personality making me say audible hello’s to everyone he ever came in contact with. But life plain sucks sometimes and he left us before he turned three.
So I stopped writing, and I stopped a lot of things and I sat and waited to feel like I should write again – but I don’t really. But I am – because that’s what everyone tells me to do. And when I think that no one wants to read my words I go out and seek someone else’s to calm myself down, and I realize that sometimes all I need to read is someone else’s words on how they’re getting through this crazy world day by day and maybe I feel just a bit better. I keep telling myself that inspiration will happen, that life just needs one more month and then I’ll get into a rhythm, a schedule, something known, planned. I haven’t had a planned life in years.
And I know that if I write a million words may be only a few of them will really hit me, hit you, like I want them to – but if those thousand don’t get written, well then those words and emotions are locked tight somewhere empty where echoes make things way too confusing and help no one.
I’m not allowing myself to delete any more. I will write crazy and happy and sad and hopefully every day – even if it’s just a little bit – even if it doesn’t make sense to you – because once I wrote for myself and in those pages are where everything that you loved came from. First, they were my thoughts, and then I shaped them to be yours.
Here, they’re just mine – but for some reason, I have to share – society makes me share if I want it to be anything someday – because who is a singer if she only sings in the shower, and who is a writer if the words only echo in her head?
Keep writing Lisa! I just the other day wrote down the first poem I’ve written in two years. It seemed silly and I only had mail scrap to write on but it was so therapeutic.
Keep writing Lisa. Maybe the next one is to honor Stitch by sharing all the things about him that made him special to you. I found it helped so much when Molly passed last year, suddenly and in my arms. Hugs to you honey.
Your best words are your own. Write for yourself and if it happens to make us feel too, well great. But if not then the experience still filled you with joy, and cathartic release, and that is all the power.
Definitely keep writing Lisa! Your words are thought provoking, touching and real. You resonate with more people than you know and that makes us all feel a little less alone in this world. ❤️
You must keep writing, I love and enjoy your writing. Your writing moves me, and it makes me feel the feelings you are expressing. I can’t immagine loosing my Griffey before his time, so I truly understand, but let those emotions inspire you to write beautiful words. Un abbraccio fortissimo, bella!
Lisa, your words are precious and brought tears to my eyes.💗 Stitch gave you and Rami some wonderful moments. So glad you were able to have him in your life💙 Life.