I am in - shall we say - another direction. I am focused on the LGBB, as always, and of trying to find new and meaningful craft projects to do with her (which I NEVER seem to have time to research to my satisfaction), I'm distracted by yet more work that has come in (always got to take it if it means paying some more bills) and then there's the Intuitive Factor.
It would seem that things are hotting up in my broadening sense of myself as an Intuitive Healer. Hmmm. I'm still too scared off and entirely too humble to even go there, although I'm told I am ready, bored (hence the explosive outbursts I can't seem to stop myself from creating) and ought to already be consulting *cough.... GASP..... nooooo!*. The latest class I've just completed was mighty useful. And next Wednesday begins the Energenetics course (delayed because of the bushfires), which I am both anticipating and deeply nervous about attending. I'll leave it at that.
And now to possibly the main reason why I've been quiet: The Book. The ever-present, won't-go-away book. I have been angst-ridden over where it is going. And now I think I remember. There had to be more on how I've come through my journey the way I have - it's one of the things I am most often asked (even amongst kindred people, like at the grief counselling course I did recently, I am asked to explain how I've done "it" and gotten through, not that I am really sure what "it" is myself yet).
Anyway, on speed reading through a particular section, I came across the few paragraphs that have reminded me where I'm meant to head it...
I liken it to the enormous impact a viewing audience might feel when, watching the nightly news, they see a story about a child losing their life too soon. We immediately think of children we know – they may be our own children, they could be children in our family, perhaps neighbours’ or customers’ children – and reference them to the age and sociability of the child who has passed. We feel sadness, sometimes very deeply depending on the circumstances, we may feel remorse or regret. We can place ourselves within the proximity of being one of the parents – “the poor mother, imagine being that father and coping with this now” – and at the end of the news story, we might still be affected for days. But even during those days, we are distracted often. Other things – our lives – happen. We don’t mean to, but we can shake off the impact of this story, no matter how deeply affected or aligned we are to it.
This is not possible when one is at the heart of the story.
Steve and I found, with a certain sense of recycling grief, that there was no such relief, not for many months, regardless of whether we wished we could simply not think, even if only for the briefest of moments, about our girl and what had happened to her, to us, to our lives as we knew them. Every time there was a moment to think, the quiet would instantly fill with images of the ward where she was housed, snapshots of “The Room” where we were ushered several times to be delivered hard news to hear about her condition, viewpoints only a mother knows such as the top of her head with my fingers laid delicately over her hair and ears. And it was hurtful. Hurtful to think about those things and dreadfully painful to admit secretly to myself that I wanted to try and avoid some of that pain – my baby should not have been inflicting this pain on me!
So began another little thread of healing for me out of these thoughts and moments – I vowed to strive to live above and beyond the pain of losing Ella. For her memory and her life, I was quite certain, was not destined to merely cease in this painful way, with little to no impact after the initial shockwaves petered out. No, I knew this much angst over our entire journey to date was meant for a greater reason than being experienced just within the confines of our relationship. And I vowed to express myself, somewhere in some way, though I didn’t know how or where yet. Nor was I fully clear on why at this point. I was focusing only on today and tomorrow and not much beyond there.
My creative writing is being stockpiled, if you like, and I find that time and space for meaningful blog posts is just not there. I don't have it in me to pour my best into my book and then some into the blog.
I feel (fear?) this means that this little web space is going to suffer. I'm afraid.... I must let it be so. I promise not to run away entirely.
More later
