Last month I was neck deep in helping a non-fiction author get her stuff published, getting Wayfarer Resolve published and a variety of other tasks when my mother started a health crisis.
Sadly my mother passed away 10/12/2018. This led to a ton of tasks when I was not at my best. Writing got set aside. I don’t easily or lightly set aside writing because it balances and grounds me.
Here I am a month later saying where did October and most of November go? I know I went to my day job and worked through arranging the funeral, clearing out her apartment, and well you get the idea.
I attended a book signing (my first) the first weekend in November. The tasks associated with my mother’s death and estate are wrapping up but I’m left feeling unsettled, sad, and crabby. I’m all for finding a nice recliner and curling up in a cave somewhere no one can bug me. Reality is that isn’t going to happen.
Writing is my sanity. But I’ve not had time for writing. This is never good. I’ve got a manuscript in my bag and I started edits on it. I’ve read on my phone using my kindle app to highlight grammatical errors I find as I read familiar friends (i.e. my published books).
Over the last month, I’ve found little writing things to keep me sane. This has helped with my grief and my stress. I may not be able to climb into my comfy recliner in the luxury cave (yup totally have it designed with high speed internet and a large hot tub), but I am able to pick up writing tasks to ground me while I work through my grief.
Last weekend with other family members, we went through my sister’s house where mom lived prior to her health issues. We sorted, took pictures, and discarded all of her things. My niece struggled with memories and grief. I shoved it all away, keeping the feelings squashed to get through the task at hand. However, when I got to a box of stuff from her office, I discovered a stack of correspondence. Some was letters from my sister who lives a few hours away. The rest were all the cards her grandchildren had sent her. She kept them all because the meant something to her.
This simple thing – nothing worth keeping – cards with short little blurbs from family. Yet I knew if mom were in the room, she would have said these were her most precious possessions. This broke my reserve and brought tears to my eyes. There was no point in keeping them but they spoke to me.
There are a few more tasks to work through, scanning pictures, figuring out slides, and so on. Once we distribute her things among the family, her estate will be done for the most part. The funeral and all the work will be behind us. A part of me doesn’t want to let go of these last few tasks but I know like all the other times it’s difficult to let go – it’s time to let go.