Monday, September 8, 2014

Six Months Gone

Six months ago today. So much has happened and so little has changed.

Time has crawled and flown all at once. I have a good bit of inner work yet to do. I spend a lot of time in the quiet, remembering, sort of treading water. I've only just begun to turn my solitary thoughts to the future.

Six months ago I had some vague notions of what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I'm not so sure now. Not at all sure. I won't be able to think clearly for some time to come. Not while there's this gigantic, 6'8" hole in my life.

Still, I refuse to rush around filling that hole with crap. I won't make any rash decisions or out-of-character "lifestyle changes." I won't be joining clubs or switching professions.  I may be in a dark wood wandering, but I recognize it as a temporary state. Last Friday night I was in the deepest, most frightening pit of despair I've encountered to date. The morning after, I threw myself into expanding my routine, really pushing things. I wasn't surprised that the world around me managed to straighten itself out just fine. That's how it goes - this swinging back and forth. The occasional need to outrun my sorrow and the occasional failure to do so.

There really is so little left to write about now. We accomplished what we set out to do, Asa and I, with writing this blog. We shared our journey through his illness, and his end, and my stuttering restart. I hope in some measure we did something good here. The blog will remain in cyberspace for some time to come, and I still get the sporadic comment - which I do read - so in that sense the blog is still active, but no new posts will be forthcoming. I have other writing I need to be doing now, other projects demanding my time and attention.

Thanks to all of you who shared this time with us; for your good wishes and support, your kindness and your interest. I'll say goodbye now from this platform, and hope we meet again on some other.

Oh - one last thing to share. A book I've been savoring for the last month or so. I remember seeing a copy of it on my mother's nightstand, nearly 60 years ago. This is one of my favorite quotes.

“Don't wish me happiness
I don't expect to be happy all the time...

It's gotten beyond that somehow.

Wish me courage and strength and a sense of humor.
I will need them all.” 


Sweetpea said...

What a beautiful post, Morwyn. It's been an honor - truly - to visit here and read, and try to understand at least a little of what you & Asa have been through, have come to .... You write beautifully. With a spareness that is articulate & utterly descriptive at the same time. I hope you will continue to put your words out there for I think you have a gift for it. You also tell the truth and there's not a lot of folks around capable/willing to do that.

I hope to always meet you somewhere!

Thank you for the Morrow quote. What has happened to Asa, and you, can happen to any of us at any time. Those words are vital ...

much love & respect from your long-ago beading friend,

NEDbeads said...

Thank you for allowing us to sit with you, and to try in some very small way to support you. Everything that Christi wrote above is so perfect, I can't imagine a better way to say the things I was thinking myself. I hope to continue meeting you in many different places.


Bird Song Used Books said...

Thank you so much, Christi, for joining us here - I still visit your blog from time to time, enjoying your journey vicariously.
And as you say, really - there is no better way than to make it up as we go along.

Bird Song Used Books said...

I'm sure we'll meet again, Nancy - most likely in some bead-strewn place. Thank you for reading, and for your kind thoughts.

Sweetpea said...

Thank you, Morwyn, I really appreciate that.

KV said...

I felt quite privileged to be able to sit with you throughout these past months. Your courage and wisdom brought many a tear to these old eyes.

Much love,


Bird Song Used Books said...

Thank you for sitting with us, Kathy, through it all. It's meant the world.