Monday, July 16, 2012

Thank You


One of the most important lessons I learned about writing is this: Show. Don't tell. So, to show how much your kind acts, words of comfort, inspiration, condolences and understanding mean to me, I thought it best to express my gratitude through a photograph. Communicating is still harder than hard. I struggle with it daily. My hand cramps hard when I try to write. It's too easy to fall out of practice, and my writing looks like chicken scratch. Silence is comforting. I rarely talk. The cats try not to worry. I am not myself. Am adjusting to a new normal and the only way to settle in is by no longer fighting it. Doing nothing or very little makes it easier. It just has to happen.

Still, I cannot help but see all the lovely letters, notes, cards, and I feel overwhelmed. JC brings in the mail most days. The mail box looks so far away. I don't know what to say to you in return just yet. And thank-you doesn't seem nearly enough. I don't know what I wrote to you before she left. Chances are I didn't even mention her name. Did I truly have so much to say? I swear. I have so little now. What can I have to write to you about when I have done so little that's worth writing about? No one wants letters filled with sadness, suffering and sorrow. Seems she's part of every conversation. You didn't even know her so . . .

Last night was the first time my mother and I talked about her without me blubbering. A long silence lay between us after Mama repeated the same old anecdote for the umpteenth time. We seem to do that a lot lately. So I'm choosing to take it as a sign that her absence isn't the raw wound that it was two and a half months ago. See? I don't know how to talk to y'all without mentioning her. I'm not crying though, so yes, it's a good sign.

My life is readjusting itself. It is rebuilding around the gaping absence of Mina. This is so new to me. You know what I mean, right? I'm trying. But since I don't know how to change things, I have decided to let life do what it does, and thank God for the gentle nudges and new paths that are opening before me. I am wounded, but it does not fester. I still want to sleep away the worst hours--between midnight and dawn--but end up wide awake. Free-falling isn't so bad after all. 

Be well. And thank you.

Sincerely sincere,

Bobbie 
(cause Limner cannot be trusted right now.)

5 comments:

  1. Take your time, find a place in your world that brings you peace and heal...we will still be here when you are ready. I think of you and hope you are feeling better. Take care!

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  2. It's so good to see you post again, to feel that maybe you'll be all right after all. If I write you, know that I expect no response but hope only that you can be at rest while time and God do their healing work.

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  3. Your post here after such a long absence is reassuring. Try, try, try to write. The loss you have experienced is excruciatingly painful. I hope you can find some comfort knowing that strangers honestly care that you hurt. Those of us who have suffered similar losses understand your pain. It seems unbearable but you will make it through. Going through it is the only way to get to the other side of the pain.

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  4. I get it. My instinct is to avoid pain. What I feel now is new. I don't know what to do to make it better, so I try to escape. I have to understand a thing before I can let go or move on. What you wrote resonates across this deep gulf that cuts me off from the life around me. Until now, I have been pretending. Trying to, anyway.

    Going through it is the only way to get to the other side of this pain. I cannot thank you enough for this simple wisdom. I am awake to everything you said. I felt such guilt before, because I felt so bad and cried so often. I learned just this second that what I feel is natural. For me.

    And now I am crying. This time, I think the tears are for me. I never KNEW before now, that it's okay.

    Thank you.

    Sincerely sincere,

    Limner

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