Skip to main content

Somewhere in the telling

Having a blog, or several blogs, over the past few years has been an interesting experiment for me.

It's evolved from a blow by blow menagerie of current events and report of 'weather' types of things meant just for my family, to something with a little more meat.  It has been one of my greatest challenges.

Despite my seemingly public display of sarcasm on social media, I am a very mysterious person; private too but I think mysterious describes me better.  I am a chameleon of souls, fitting in whenever and wherever and acting out whatever the moment dictates. I can be in the farthest depths of sadness, yet no one would be the wiser.

To write my blogs with more honesty and less self censoring is one of the hardest things I have done and I still don't do it well. I read with jealousy, other people's blogs who just lay it all out there.  All the good, the bad and the horribly ugly stuff.  The feelings you never want to admit to a soul, not even your favorite friend. I love reading those blogs!  I love to see the process of living played out in real lives.

I have a hard time admitting to even myself, the chaos of a life I have.  I have become so good at just narrating my life as a 3rd person reporter on the 10:00 news.  People have often said I should write a book.  I have written a book.  It has a title and everything. I even submitted that book last fall to a publishing company in New York and they basically told me it held great promise if I could just 'own' the story.

Not a day goes by that I don't think about that phrase, owning your story.

With everything we have had fall onto our already teaming plate of life, I have wondered about quitting the blog world and just writing on one of my other blogs that remain hidden away with pen names and privacy walls so it is only fit for my eyes.  I've thought that maybe people are sick of hearing our sad, and somewhat pathetic story.  I've wondered why, if it's so hard for me to admit my own life, I continue to try every day.

Today, I realized that it comes down to one word.  Witness.  There is something about having your story witnessed. It's like that old, philosophical  riddle, "If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?"

 For me, I write because the paper and the pen is my witness.  The proof that it happened.  That I was here.  That I lived. That I felt.  That I loved.  That I did.  That it hurt.  That it mattered.  That I am.

There is something deep within me that drives me to tell the story.  My story.  I am realizing that it's okay that my story isn't full of funny moments like I wish it could be.  It's become a story of becoming.  I'm facing heart wrenching things and some days, I feel strong and some days, so very tired and weak.  It is all a part of the story.  There are some days, most days, I resent that this is my story.  I want to be writing a different story.  This quote speaks volumes of how I feel...

I know that at the end of the day...that very long day when it is all said and done, it will be discovered somewhere in the telling of my stories that it was the best story ever.  I hope when that moment comes, I will see that it was a story worth living; that I will see the 'becoming' that comes with living and enduring through the trials.

That's what I hope comes of telling stories.  And so it goes, somewhere in the telling...


Popular posts from this blog

Some Results

I was surprised to get a brief update from our doctor this morning.

They did not catch any seizure activity last week.  She said that while that may be good news, it didn't rule out deep structure seizures.   I asked if the test gave any insight to the cause of the slowing of activity in her brain and these were her words.

" No, this does not give an answer ... But it is just one test, done one time ..."

We are still waiting on the MRI results.  I'm not losing hope.  I know, I play this game ALL THE TIME...I wish for problems that no one in their right mind would wish for.  I only do that because it's usually the option with a fix.  Of all the things they are considering to be an issue for Shelbie, seizures are the simplest explanation and medication would manage it.

I'm certain we aren't going to find a solution to her problems any time soon.  While I sat in the waiting room during her 2 hour MRI last Thursday, there was a couple in the room as well.  A…

Random Saturday

Whenever I feel like we are careening out of control, I declutter and clean.  By midnight on Friday, I had 1/3 of my living room filled with stuff I didn't want.  Today, I made a couple of trips to the thrift store and the dump.

Ahhh, I feel like I lost 20 pounds.

When Sam came home after his first week at school a while back, he said, "Wow, my room looks the same."

"What did you think your room would look like?"  I asked.


Turkey!  He came home this morning with his laundry and was a bit despaired.  He said, "Mom, you gotta help me with the smell in my apartment!  I can't stand it anymore! Do we have any Ozium?"

He went on to explain that there is no garbage disposal in the kitchen sink but food gets crammed down there anyways.  He said he keeps putting the little metal drains in that are meant to catch bits of food but his roommates take them out.  He's about fed up.  And while he was on his rant about boys and their leve…

A Witness

I was expecting just another run of the mill night at the gym last night.  The kind where the 'meat heads' stay at their end of the gym grunting and groaning to sound strong and I would claim a little corner in the room where the Yogi's hang out and Plank, and there I would Spin on a bike for a few miles, do some rowing, a little TRX and finish up with some free weights.

Last night though, I actually decided to do an easier workout and took an inclined walk on the treadmill.  There were no meat heads in far end of the gym.  No one really at the gym at all.  For the longest time, I kept pace with an old guy on a bike behind me.

But then, a man and his son came in.  I knew them.  I knew them well but they don't know just how well I know them.  They have a son who passed away from Cystic Fibrosis a little while ago, he would have been Spencer's age now.  They have a younger son who also has CF.  I knew his wife and mother in law back when my kids were being diagnosed.…