Monday, February 20, 2012

Words make sentences, sentences make paragraphs

   I find it very funny this afternoon that my last blog post was about not having the ability to write anything of meaning- and now this post will be about the exact opposite.

                                             I have jumped onto the writing train and it's moving rather fast...

I'm now moving right along in my internship with College Prowler,which I love, as I now have a designated 2 hour block every day in which to write about college life in a very structured way. It makes my creativity become a little stiffled, as I have to be weary about how I present what I write so that it doesn't contain bias, but the formula works and the time always seems to fly by.

I am also fully immersed in chapter one of my novel, and as daunting as that is, I enjoy the uncertainty of what's ahead and the freedom I have in how I present it.

As with any new adventure though, there is quite a bit of fear and intimidation involved. I have always been a pretty good communicator when it comes to the written language (although grammar has never been worth the effort to me, at least for this venue) yet, I find it hard to explain the depth of what really happened to us.

I sat down on Saturday and wrote every aspect, every detail, every little thing that I could remember of your last few days here... and though doing so came with plenty of tissues, tears, and loud music in my headphones- it was the most therapeutic thing I could have done.

I knew I needed to get started somehow and as much as I dreaded it I had to get the hardest part over with first. When I reflect now a few days later on what I wrote I still feel as though something is missing, as though I said what happened, but not what it felt like.

Sure, when I was done writing I wasn't in the most cheerful mood, as I suppose is to be expected after someone just forces themselves to relive the hardest part of their life, but the result of the day was quite unexpected.

I never expected this novel to be easy to write... but, I guess a piece of me believed it wouldn't hurt this much. I mean I have told your story plenty of times to friends, teachers, and anyone who watched my State Championship speech last year- so retelling the story one more time should be a piece of cake, right? Wrong. So so wrong.

Even to this day, I still haven't quite figured out how to respond when new friends ask: So where do your parents live?

It should be a simple answer right? Wrong again.
If I answer " Oh my dad lives..."
                       then they ask "And what about your mom?"
No matter what I say, it always ends in a horrible " she passed away" line in which the person asking the question immediately burst out an "I'm sorry"...which always makes me feel guilty for bringing it up.

That has to have been the hardest realization thus far, that now that you're really gone there is no hidding from it, its a part of me now, it's a question that will always have to be answered, and its a book that will always have to be written.

So, I guess what all this rambling is really getting at is that I learned this week that this book is going to be hard,it's going to be a test of perserverance and strength, it will require me to tell the truth, and all of the truth: the good and the ugly...

                                        but, even though this adventure I'm on is guaranteed not to be a walk in the park, there is a need for honesty.
Your story Mom... I believe it's worth something that goes far beyond our family, far beyond my circle of friends...
 I believe your love, strength, and tenacity holds a place in the hearts of anyone who is willing to take the time to listen.

We have all grown. We have all learned at a deeper level what it really means to love, what it really means to support, and what it really means to continue on. We, as a family, have become better because of this experience and I believe that everyone who takes the time to read this novel can relate, can learn, and can grow from our experience in one way or another.

This is just another time where I realize: the heartache that will come in retelling this story, is a small price to pay for the lives that will be changed by the love that is shared within the pages of this hope-to-be book of mine...
Love Always and Forever
Your Daughter,

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Forgetting the purpose behind it all

    Lately I have been feeling this hole somewhere in myself. This void that just appeared out of no where...and I just discovered, while reading a friend's blog, what it was. I have been void of my inspiration to blog.

  I've never had issues figuring out what to write about, Mom, because I know the reason why I write. I write to make myself feel whole again. I write to stay invisibly connected to you.

    I write to regain some piece of you that I lost amongst the "healing and moving forth process." My own mind, to protect itself, temporarily forgot experiences we've had together...because if I remembered them all  I don't think I could find any peace. The one thing I just realized though is by protecting myself and learning how to continue on without you, I  have somehow shut myself off to the lessons that can be learned and the pieces of my heart that can be healed by remembering.

Mom, the reason why I had temporarily lost my inspiration to write was because I turned this into a homework assignment. You see, I'm in a class here that is titled "How to write a novel" and our homework assignment was to either create a blog on the topic we wanted our book to be based on, or  to keep writing about our topic on a blog.

 Mom, I want to write about us.

I want to write about you and your story and how your story affected our family, affected me. I want to write about how we became a closer,stronger, more loving family because of our hardships.

 A story about a Moya Moya patient whose surgery failed her. Not just about the disease, but about the beautiful women that suddenly found  herself trapped behind the disease... and how her family learned and grew with her.

I want to write about the days of:

Spaghetti O's and grilled cheese
                 paper airplanes aimed at the laundry basket you carried
the yellow and blue checkered dresses for picture day
                    the days of you watching me at physical therapy
cooking one of dad's favorite meals, Salisbury steak
                 dad bringing you home flowers just because
watching three movies you said Shelby and I had to see: Flash Dance, The Notebook, and Breakfast at Tiffany's
               transferring the laundry pile that was in the dryer onto the couch in front of the TV--so you could multitask
                    Everyday at noon catching you home from work with your lunch
                                                                and cherry Pepsi with ice watching All My Children.

              I want to write about the life that came before the illness, and the growth that came after...

 I want to write about the love.

Mom, I have found my focus. I have remembered my inspiration.
                         Inspiration comes from our life as SB squared, my inspiration comes from you.

Love Always and Forever
Your Daughter,