Monday, September 22, 2014

So Much

You know, in all the days of blogging since Rick left this world, I've never had trouble figuring out what to write. This is 121st post and I've never had a problem coming up with a topic every single night, explaining my thoughts, or pouring my heart out. There is just SO MUCH in me.

This blog borders on uncomfortably open at times, and I realize that. Interestingly enough, it is not uncomfortable for me as the writer, but for some, I recognize that such emotion and vulnerability can be unnerving to read. It just doesn't happen that often in this world anymore.

121 posts and I'm still spewing feelings. How can this be? Strange as it may seem, these deep entries often feel like the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my love, my pain, my joy, and my grief.

People often ask me, "How do you come up with what you write about?"

I say, "It just comes."

Sometimes, people ask, "What will you write about tonight?"

I tell them, "I'll know when I sit down to type."

I don't want to say it is easy... but for lack of a better term, it is easy. It comes out. Because it is there. Inside of me. There is just so much.

I like to ponder. I like to map out time. I like to mark my trials and triumphs. I like to question things. I like to attempt to make sense of life's complexities. I like to share. I like to help. I like to try to understand. I like to document.

But what it really comes down to is this: I like to feel. And I like to write.

There is just so much.

As long as there are things to feel, there will always be things to write. That's what life is for me. That is what makes my heart pump.

You know, I'll be honest - if there was no internet, no blogosphere, no Facebook, I'd still be writing these posts. Every day. Whether on my computer or in a notebook, these words would find their way into existence. It's just the way it has to be for me.

But there is a certain kind of touching joy, a swelling of the heart, that happens when someone tells me they read my words here. A friend of a friend of a friend... A neighbor down the street... A coworker's family... practically the whole state of Connecticut ;-) and a fair amount of Pennsylvania too.... a spattering of dozens of states near and far... perfect strangers... a good portion of the UK ;-)... people who knew Rick but whom I've never met... the east and west coasts of Canada... old pen pals... word-of-mouth Twitter followers... other widows... other social workers... relatives of my friends...

It spreads like wildfire in a way I did not expect and my heart feels gently supported when someone I barely know sits down next to me for a random moment to whisper, "I read your blog."

I feel so much, so I write so much. Turning tears to words is where it starts. And I am holding beautiful knowledge: with writing, there is no end in sight...but with pain, there is.

1 comment:

  1. I think that for you writing can be a sort of safety valve. Each of us has one. For you is writing, for someone else can be music, for others the drawing.
    Everyone has its own way to pull out emotions, and all of them are okay.
    I believe that if writing makes you feel better and helps you to deal with this emotionally difficult time, you just have to keep doing it. For yourself.


Help me feel less alone.