The Hiatus is over (No rest for the Wicked)

Coming off my writing hiatus is not going to be easy. I have worried for some time that the writing well was dry. Honestly, I have had a love hate relationship with not writing. On the one hand it was nice not having an assignment first thing every morning. On the other hand, I filled (more like wasted) that time with endless Facebook scrolling which depending on the day could either be interesting or annoying. Over all, the time I would normally write was given away to other things and other people as an avoidance measure.

Writing for me is very therapeutic. I spend an hour or two sharing how I feel about my life or some other more interesting topic and then send it out into the world for all to see. At some point over the last few years I had decided that maybe what I was writing was nothing that important and that I was being vain for sending my thoughts out for the word to chew on. What could I possibly offer anyone? Perhaps it is just that many times we are all feeling the same way and one of us just writes it out loud. Well, whatever it is, I’m willing to get back at it.

Much of what I have written about has been family related. I began my writing journey trying to slog through my life and figure out my relationship with my Mom. Now I am my family, meaning that the buck stops here. Mom has passed on, Dad has passed on and my dear Aunt Nina has passed and now I’m the only one (besides my beloved sisters) to sort out life for my children. Whatever I have done or do from here on out is my story and my weight to bear.

Life has a funny way of teaching us lessons when we aren’t even looking for one. I know now that my mom did the best she could. She loved me, but she had her own demons that she fought. She did the best she could with what she had. I am sure my girls look at me sometimes and just shake their head. Some day they will be wearing these woman size shoes and realize they are much harder to fill than you think. I also know that once your Mom is gone you appreciate her more. Her lessons especially the ones that annoyed you suddenly make more sense. Her rough spots are missed and that hug and “I love you” are held tenderly in your mind in a safe place. I miss my Mom, but I love my life as a Mom and I hope that if nothing else my children know that and remember it.

Somehow I’ll get back into the swing of this writing thing and I am happy to have you along for the ride.