I have been at the computer most of the day, scrolling through 3 months of sent emails prior to my father's death. To think I have several years is a bit daunting. I want to what I wrote about life, friendship, writing, and caregiving in one place and then see if there is a book there.
A book? You? Who do you think you're kidding? Questions my scaredy cat self asks on a regular basis. The flip side to that coin, is yeh, ME, Merry ME, I can write a book. Because a book is just a story. And that's what writers do ... tell their story. For me a journey of 60,000 words must begin somewhere and today was the day. A half ream of paper is now stacked up ready to be culled for content. Nobody ever said writing is for sissies.
The trip down memory lane had another purpose to, though I didn't realize it until an hour ago. Reading about Dad's final months and the struggle(s) we had and the good things we shared was like watching a movie you've seen before and even though you know how it ends, you sit on the edge of your seat and immerse yourself in it.
Monday will be the one year anniversary of Dad's death. I've cried some but have felt surprisingly in control. I do not know how I will honor that day but I will somehow. And I will honor my daughter/caregiver's journey. I don't expect my grief will end because a day on the calendar says it's been a year. My heart will still skip a beat when I am startled from a sound sleep hearing Dad call my name. Or I see his picture, or I shred boxes of papers (once the accountant gives me the ok) or whatever calls him to mind. It will continue to be gentle with myself, feel what I feel, comfort my inner child, and let my Sweetie comfort me. I will remember the past as I begin to FOCUS on the future.
And write. Because that's what writers do.