Why I stopped Writing ...

I’ve heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing with them something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return.

Well I don’t know if I believe that’s true
But I know I’m who I am today
Because I knew you!

Some time back in 2009 I lost my drive to write, or more accurately my passion for writing. It happened gradually over time, first with the slowing of written posts on this blog, then eventually with the abrupt lack of any posting of any kind here. I used the excuse that I was working on a new writing project at first. Then that I was posting things on Facebook instead of keeping in contact via this blog. In reality, though I was working on a new writing project and I was posting on Facebook more and more, they were just excuses both to you and to me. So what really happened?

I finished Unconditional during the winter of 2009, all but the final formatting revisions and minor tweaks had been completed and turned over to the one person who I needed to “approve” of the changes. I was biding my time by beginning a new project, still unfinished to date, and searching for a new direction to take that project in. I’m not certain when exactly, but shortly after getting the approval to publish my changes to Unconditional my writing began to taper off significantly. First this blog suffered, then the project I was working on, and eventually even those posts on Facebook became fewer and farther between. My drive was fading fast and by the fall of 2010, it was gone all together.

As most of you know, in September of 2009 my family got word of a late stage cancer diagnosis. In light of that news, and because the project I was working on involves “The Big C”, I stopped working on it completely. With that, I stopped writing. I haven’t written much of anything since then, not even those lengthy e-mails I have become famous for among my friends and family. Sure there have been a few of them over the last year or so, but very few. It would seem that when I needed an outlet for my emotions the most, I stopped writing completely, something I have always used for that much needed release.

I’ll be honest, I never really understood why I stopped writing, just figured I wasn’t interested and would eventually find the time and pick it up again. I was wrong. Something else happened that fall, something far more significant to my mental state and previous need to use writing as a means of emotional release. Part of my writing Unconditional and the conversations it sparked between me and my friends and family were based solely on my need to work through some baggage I have carried with me since high school. Who knew that writing could become the best form of therapy for me?

The rekindling of a friendship with Jack, the common ground that was found with my own family and that of my spouses, the loss of my maternal grandfather, and the news that my mother-in-law has terminal breast cancer all slammed into my world in just two short years. It created a world wind of emotions to deal with and, for the first time in as long as I can remember, those emotions were dealt with in a positive way that did not result in me retreating from my long held beliefs and simply hiding from the world. Instead, I faced them head on, with some help of course, and worked through what needed to be worked through. The stuff that didn’t matter as much was forgotten and moved past and I learned more about myself and my friendships in a few short months than I did in the previous 20 some years combined. And I did it all without writing! No blogs, no long winded e-mails venting to a friend, not even a significant journal entry. Yes I do still keep a hand written journal. I know, how archaic of me.

Instead, I took a new outlook on life, the freedom from baggage that I didn’t even know had been weighing me down for more than a decade, and used it to help form the support system my family needed. I stood strong to anchor them during the loss of my grandfather, and in the wake of the cancer diagnosis. I held tight to my firm belief that everything in life, the good, the bad, and the seemingly insignificant all happens for a distinct reason. I am not one who believes that every little detail of life has been pre-planned by some almighty deity, but there are some elements to that theory I believe hold water. It is far too coincidental that certain people seem to come into my life at just the right moments or that I cross paths with someone for only a moment and feel like I have known them my entire life. My faith in what many call a “higher power” does not follow the rules of any single organized religion, in fact I am in general opposed to most if not all organized religions because of their great propensity to promote nothing but hypocrisy. However, I have learned over time that certain events and people I have met along my path thus far have in fact been for a reason far greater than my immediate understanding at the time. It is my job to discover what their reasons may be so that I can learn from each what I need to know and integrate it into the remainder of my journey.

This outlook has made it easier to deal with the ups and downs of life, especially over the last three years in my immediate and extended families. It has allowed me to see that much can be learned and good can come from tragedies. Had I not lost people in my life previously, or gone through the pain of separation from close friends and family I would not be where I am physically today, nor would I be there mentally. Even through the pain of watching a loved one slowly fade away to a disease that cannot be cured and barely controlled most days, there are lessons to be learned for all. The strength it takes me to rise from bed each day is miniscule compared to that of a person who takes great effort simply in lifting their tired bones from the bed each morning. To them, seeing another day, no matter how filled with discomfort or lack of energy is a gift not a burden. They willingly rise each morning eager to take in every experience that life has left to offer them, and crawl back into bed each night wanting to repeat the process again the next day. We can all learn a bit from those who view each day, no matter what may happen to them along the way, as a gift. And I, having now witnessed this first hand through my mother-in-law’s struggle with cancer have been given a gift that no money could buy. She inspires me to wake each day and learn something new. To experience life until there is nothing left to experience. To roll with the punches and all that will be thrown my way. And to always remember that in life, everything both good and bad happens to us for a reason!

So how does this relate to my passion for writing and why I have not done much of it in the last three years? I lost my passion when I rid myself of the baggage I was carrying in my relationship with Jack. My drive to write in the past was tied to those emotions left raw and hidden from view. When I finally managed to stand up and face them, to admit that I was wrong about some things and clear up some misunderstandings between us, I no longer felt the need to express myself with written words, verbal was suddenly an option for me. It is fair to say that Unconditional was the first and last book I wrote because I needed to. I needed to write back in 2007 and what became of it was Unconditional. After finishing it I began a new project, the one dealing with “The Big C” that still remains unfinished and very much untouched since mid-year 2010. I will one day resume work on that project, but for now it has been shelved in favor of a new story, one that is being written not because I NEED to write it, but more because I WANT to.

I have once again found my passion for writing, my inspiration if you will, and it is still very much linked to my relationship with Jack. However, I now realize it is because he inspires me to do many things in life and his encouragement of my writing is just one of those.

in progress

Was doing a little blog re-organization and ran across this draft I never published ... It was originally penned back in 2008, somewhere between May and September. It is by no means a complete work, but I'll share it anyway.

Can't concentrate, can't think
Thoughts keep drifting back in time
Memories of our last encounters
Things he said, looks he gave
Advice he offered so effortlessly

Months have passed between us
Always too busy to make the time
Life goes on day by day
Each one slipping quietly into the past
Time stacking up against us
Knowing one day will be our last

Was that it, the last I will see of him
That chilly day in May
When my thoughts were somewhere else
Off in my own little world
Listening intently as he spoke
Gave of himself, sat patiently for my answers
Telling me "I'll Wait" when I would pause between them
All the while knowing
I was somewhere else

It was his birthday, but I forgot
It was the beginning, and the end
A day filled with tears, and hope
Of mixed emotions, weakness, and strength
The last day I heard my grandfather's voice
The last day I believed I was a misfit
The first day my eyes were truely open wide
The first day I could see the reason it all changed

In the emotional falout of that day
I learned, I grew, I changed
I asked the hard questions
And gave answers to them more freely
When they were asked of me
Yet some things remain the same

Our lives are forever intertwined
The distance between us
A double edged sword
A new balance i know I must find

It's time. I've healed enough to post this

Back in April my grandfather passed away. I got the phone call that he was nearing the end on Monday night and that it could be days or weeks but I should plan to be attending a funeral soon. I live about three hours from him, and he had part of my family there with him already, so I didn't drop everything and run up to see him. I also knew that my grandfather wouldn't want me to put my life on hold just to sit back and watch him die. By Wednesday afternoon I was beginning to wonder if I had made the right choice in not going up right away and began to wrestle with that demon inside my head. I was torn between honoring the wishes of my Grandfather by going up to see him once more before he passed and doing what I thought he would want me to do. After a long conversation with Jen, I finally picked up the journal and began to write. By the end of the entry from 5/14/08, I had made my decision and also wound up with a neat tribute to my grandfather that I read at his funeral service.

It was my intent to post this months ago but every time I began to type the tears began to flow and I knew I just wasn't ready. Tonight I picked up my journal, something I haven't written much in lately, to flip back through the journey of finding Jack again in the hopes of resolving what I truly need to say to him next weekend. Rather than finding that answer, I found this and it just felt like the right time to type it up and post it.

-----------------------------------
It’s Wednesday, almost Thursday, and I’m still torn about what to do. I’m okay with not seeing him again before he finally quits life…but I get the feeling he’s waiting for me. If I stick to the original plan to head up Friday after work, I may be too late. Again, I’m okay with that BUT if it’s true that he’s waiting for me I don’t want to wonder if I waited too long and he decided that I wasn’t coming.

I keep hearing his voice in my head, the loving yet comical way he would always say “Well hello there Shanny” and “Goom-bye”. Those make me smile. It’s the faint, almost haunting, repeating of my name and “Ga-Bye” that invokes tears for me and leaves me wondering if he is somehow calling for me. I’m not certain I believe that is even possible but I can’t explain it any other way. Each time they fade away and my thoughts become silent, I wonder if that’s the end. It makes me a little nervous that I may have just somehow heard his last words/thoughts. This all sounds so crazy yet when I told Jen she wasn’t freaked out at all by it. I’m freaked out by it, why isn’t she?

So if this is real, not just some wishful thinking or strange memory from my past…is he really holding on for me? Will he finally be able to stop clinging to life and slip peacefully from all the pain just by knowing I’m there? Is it fair of me to put my life, whatever meager plans and obligations I have over the next two days before the final wishes of my Grandfather? Don’t I owe him more than that?

(this is the piece I read at his service)
To the man who taught me to fish, who never missed an opportunity to take me fishing though we rarely if ever caught anything. The one adult who would spend hours on end listening to me talk and ask questions, who called me his little “Motor Mouth” and “Ratchet Jaw”. The one who bandaged my barely scratched finger after a goose tried to eat it. Who didn’t get mad at me, at least he never let me see it, when I bumped the motor home out of park while pretending to drive one night. And who always managed to pull over every time I had “hot feet”. The one who always made funny noises just to get a rise out of small children, and who never met a cat he liked ‘till mine curled up on his lap.

I’ll miss the smile, the way you always called me “Shanny” because I hated it so much. I’ll miss the stories and occasional nuggets of wisdom you passed along often without knowing it. And, I’ll miss the look of pride in your eyes when I would tell you all about my latest accomplishment, no matter how small.

I hear your voice in my head and can’t explain why. I’m sure it will fade in time, grow softer as each day passes by; but your memory will be with me always. I’m sure there will be moments, both happy and sad, spent watching the waves roll ashore on some beach remembering our time together. I know you loved the water, the calmness of floating along trolling for fish and the peace of simply staring out into the waves and letting your thoughts run free. And for me…That’s where I’ll go to remember, and to forget. For me the water is where your spirit will always be.

Good memories, and a few tears to go with them

He’s alive! And, he remembered his promise to e-mail me. It’s nothing major in his latest e-mail, apparently, he tried to send me one Monday that probably had more to it but it got lost in transfer and I never got it. I’ll be in town this weekend and MAY have free time to hang out with him, but if the weather holds out he’ll be out sailing with his grand daughter and unavailable. I hope it works out for them; sailing is where I would rather be too and those one-on-one moments between grandparent and child are priceless.

(sniff, sniff)

I still remember the first time my grandfather took me out fishing, I think I was about seven or eight, and Dad had been too busy with work to spend that kind of time with me. Grandpa taught me how to pick the slimy worms from the bucket of dirt, wrap them around the hook, and spear them so they didn’t wriggle their way off. He helped me perfect my casting and explained, after the third or fourth fish got away, that when the little red and white bobber goes under water you need to quickly pull up on the pole. He was patient with me as I asked question after questions and babbled on about whatever was running through my head that day. It’s how I earned my nicknames Ratchet Jaw and Motor Mouth. I don’t think we caught a single fish that day, at least not one that made it all the way to the boat, but both of us were smiling nonetheless as we hauled the old metal boat from the water to its home on the shore.

There were many more fishing excursions in our future, some with just the two of us, but most included an uncle, boy cousin, and Dad as well. Once in a while, one or both of my sisters would tag along but neither of them really enjoyed fishing, it was mostly the chance to get out on the water and bask in the sun they were after. I remember entire days spent trolling along the lakeshore not catching a thing yet never being disappointed in our lack of fish. I also remember the days when the hook no sooner hit the water and you were reeling in a fish and then of course, there were those excursions to go sucker snagging behind the dam in Brevort, a slightly illegal endeavor but one that resulted in helping reduce the nuisance population of suckers in Brevort Lake for a few years. Probably the most exciting fishing memory I have was a deep sea trip off the coast of Coco Beach, Florida where I reeled in, with a little assist from Grandpa and Cousin Billy, a 15lb Dogfish Shark. However, in all the years I spent time fishing with my grandfather, it’s the memory of our first trip that sticks out in my head the most. Those are the memories that mean the most as we get older, and they are the ones we hang onto long after the passing of those we shared them with.

I suppose I should pack my pole and pick up a container of worms on my way north this weekend, it might just be time to drop a line in the water again spend an afternoon remembering the good times spent fishing with my grandfather over the years. Besides he always told me they bite better in the rain and the forecast is certainly looking like rain for the next few days.

It's Over

On my way north this morning to give my grandfather the closure he requested ... my head went silent. It happened about 9AM and I was halfway between Houghton Lake and Lake City. I continued with my morning plan of stopping by to see a friend and then headed to Mom and Dad's to wait for Heather. When my cell rang about 10AM I already knew what I was about to be told. I hadn't heard his voice in my head for over an hour ... the longest pause since Tuesday evening. I already knew he had passed, and I can probably pin it down to the minute without ever asking anyone who may have been there.

I'm sad, it's a normal reaction I know, but I also know that it is for the best. And I know that he went peacefully, I felt him slip away. In my head I had been replying to his calls by telling him I would be there, or that I was on my way. When I hit Houghton Lake and got off the express way that reply changed to "I'm here". I did my best to keep my mind busy the rest of the drive, preparing myself to keep the tears from flowing while I talked to Jack. I was just about to Lake City when I heard his voice in my head for the last time today. He called my name once again and then said "good bye, be good." That's what he would always tell me when I left.

Sometimes this "gift" of crawling into someone else's head is a burden ... today it gave me a chance to be there for him in his final moments and hear him tell me good bye. Today it is a blessing and will help me to mourn his passing quickly and move on with life. that's what my grandfather would want me to do anyway.

I'll miss you and I'll do my best to be the rock they need to support them for a while. That's just what I do in times like this.

Taking a break

Way too much of what is happening in my life right now needs to remain out of the public domain. I am okay, this does not mean any of you should be concerned, but I won't be posting here for a while. Time to spend a little more time writing from the heart which requires the old pen-to-paper method.


"with hands held high into a sky so blue the Ocean opens up to swallow you" - Linkin Park Hands Held High