I awoke this morning, early, my head full of notes Re: the book to jot down. After I had done that, I knew I had to spend time writing today. So excited, I dropped the LGBB off for her coupla hours of pre-booked day care and ditched work for writing on the book. Just me and the lappy and a cosy local café couch. Just the ticket on a chilly autumn day. I love it when my work on the draft is impromptu like this. There is absolutely no forcing the words out on days like today. It's almost as if Ellanor's there, at the ready, quill in fist.
I cried in public today. First time in so long. But there they were, the telltale tumbling warm tears. So big and fat! They wet my whole face. Lucky the place was near empty when that happened, not that I cared. I'm a silent, discreet public crier, having grown used to it a long time ago.
I had no idea where my fingers and my memories were going to lead me. And I am still really afraid to share stuff like this (below) because I really honestly do worry that I won't be taken seriously. But I can't convince anyone who won't be convinced that I don't make this shit up. I might forget, hence it coming out little by little, but I don't make it up. I didn't even think this part should be in the book. But now it's in. And I am a little bit afrit about it. There's more, but I won't be sharing it all (otherwise nobody will ever have to actually read the book if it ever gets off the ground and goes anywhere, they can just come here!) - suffice to say, I also wrote today about the other occasion I had mulled over and was uncertain should be included, the decision apparently being taken off me as my fingers sped over the keys this morning. That section was about my (long deceased) grandparents paying a visit one sunny arvo a few weeks after Ella was born, which frightened, surprised and comforted me so.
Anyway, so for what it's worth, here 'tis - yet another passage for consideration.
*ohgod-ohgod-ohgod, she thinks, watch the reader numbers drop like flies*
One day, as I sat at Ella’s side, I gazed around the rest of the NICU as I often did. But this time, I was rocked to the core at the discovery that each individual little life being kept alive was clearly audible to me. As in, I could hear them all talking (or at least, attempting to). I sat rigid in my chair and allowed sobs to cough out of my throat as I slowly realised what I was witnessing, the emotion almost choking me.
“Do you need to go downstairs for a break, darling?” Ella’s nurse thought I was overcome about my own child. I could not even begin to describe to her what I was feeling. So I politely declined her offer that I should take myself out of the ward for a while. And I sat and amazed myself by discovering I could tune in.
Straining a little, I distantly but distinctly heard them all. Each with their own voice. The sound it made was not dissimilar to a crowded room of people carrying out various conversations. They were all saying something and, I imagine, each of them had something different to say, but with all of the talking at the same time, I did not hear any one of them separately. They came to me as a whole. And I had no idea how to help them. So I sat and I cried. I cried for them, for their parents and families, for how precious they all were and how they were all in the process of changing the lives of the people around them forever. Even if they never made it home. It was a thoroughly humbling experience and one I will never ever forget. Somewhat interestingly to me, I did not hear my own child’s voice in the throng. Perhaps because I had already heard her. I don’t know.
