Yes. This. Thank you for writing it. Monday it will be six months since my husband died. “Sing a song” and “bestow beauty.” Life is happening now. We are to live it. Grieving is part of my/our journey. We loved. We mourn. We miss him. We remember. We are still alive. Speaking for my boys and I. So many loved and cared for him and prayed us through. Our family that we made together. We are thankful and blessed. Again and again. “Sing a song” and “bestow beauty.” Got it. Will do. Yes. This.
That feeling when someone suddenly “Tumblr loves” something you wrote a few years ago. You reread it. Sigh deeply and cuss (just in your head). Somehow you nearly forgot. Does anyone else tag real life personal drama as, “creative writing” and hope the outer facade of reality doesn’t crack? No, me either. After tagging that way a few times my husband “called me on it” so I stopped. Stopped writing quite so honestly. Stopped tagging anything “creative writing.” Started talking about the dog, Blue, then just a puppy. A lot. Time flies. Speed varies. I’ve logged nearly 1,000 posts here at Tumblr since joining in November 2011. Poems. Photographs. Stories. Quotes. Reblogs. All tweeted too, if you’re counting. The best, most interesting, jaw dropping, heart aching, twisting, tugging, wrenching, soaring writing from the past several years has all been done behind the scenes. Just in case you’re wondering, this poem, written on a long ago night, was foreshadowing. I’m glad I was brave enough to write it and say it at the time. I still remember the fight. Faded. Fading. Letting go. We were fire and fire, fire and ice, hot and cold. Yet, we ended “just right.” We came through the fire, all pride set aside, and we loved with our walls down for the very first time.
Yesterday I heard two things a woman always loves to hear:
1. From a wonderful friend, “You look thinner.”
2. My 14 year old nephew, “Aunt Janean, Grandma just told me how old you are.”
I reply, “I’m 41.”
Sweet teenage boy says, “I can’t believe it! I thought you were in your 30’s.”
These are words a woman remembers. If you’re looking for me today, my thinner, 30-something self, will still be floating on Cloud 9 with a mile wide smile, Artist, Poet, Daydreamer Style.
looking back because that’s what we do there are times we could have zagged instead of zigged visa versa too we can’t go back there are no do overs I’m just glad I’ve spent these years with you
looking forward we have more questions than answers and when we get them we may wish we didn’t know so let’s zig more and zag less and remember to laugh and love and live for as long as we have left together could be you’re stuck with me for many years yet so I can baffle and perplex you with more poems about zigging and zagging