I’m back
I’m back! Have you missed me? Maybe. Maybe not. That’s okay. 
Sometimes we all have to take a break from the normal day-in day-out things we do. These past 10 days have been such a time for me. I didn’t plan on taking ten days off from writing. I didn’t plan to lose interest in writing and speaking. But it happened.
Two deaths in my family (my grandfather and my cat) trapped me in an emotional whirlwind. You can probably relate to the experience of staring off into space, welling up with tears without apparent provocation and not feeling at all like doing those things you typically do without thought.
Early in the week I thought should write a blog entry. But my heart wasn’t in it. The idea mill was dry.
I went to Vermont for two days for my grandfather’s funeral. The four-hour drive (each way) was restorative. The mountains of New Hampshire were beautiful. The contrast of green valleys, a snow capped Mount Washington and a brilliant blue sky was amazing. I spent hours thinking about my own life, a recent epiphany (I just love that word!) I’d had and how I would move forward with this new insight.
When I got home Thursday night I thought, “I should make a blog entry.” But I just couldn’t do it. Didn’t have the heart. I was tired and let myself off the hook.
On Friday I again felt like I “should” write an entry.
Have you ever felt that way? You keep thinking of the “shoulds”? Well, I rebelled again. I didn’t want to write a blog entry because I felt I “should” I wanted to write a blog entry because I wanted to write. Because I felt compelled to share something with the world.
I let myself off the hook at that point.
And here I am today, feeling compelled to share my sadness with you.
It’s ironic that my last post was about my winning a speech contest. Last week and even now, that doesn’t seem important to me. I compete at the next level (Division B which is all of Maine and southern New Hampshire) this Saturday. I’m finding it hard to practice and perfect the speech. My heart just isn’t in it.
The grieving process takes time. I have to allow myself that time.
The death of my grandfather (he was 93) was sad. I’ll miss him, but I rarely saw him. I have favorite memories and stories of him.
But my true pain comes with the loss of my cat, Fluffy. Fluffy used to climb on to my lap while I was typing in this blog. Sometimes he’d climb on to my keyboard and I’d have to edit out his comments–they might be interpreted as curse words! I miss the clumps of fur that he’d shed on the carpet and the way his ears perked up when he heard a can of tuna fish being opened. When I come home from work or running errands I miss seeing his face peering at me through the door or his body curled up on my computer chair.
So much of my time spent with Fluffy revolved around the computer and who would sit in the comfy chair. Yes, he always won. My days are more lonely now. He was a companion when Gerry and the kids were away at work or school. Now it’s just me.
Fortunately time has a way of healing us. One thousand four hundred and forty minutes a day. Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes a year.
