I finally finished writing my book and it feels… empty? Perhaps because the writing I have been doing this year feels more like a friend with a listening ear and a trusting voice I can depend on. It is not over yet, I am starting my next one while I try to navigate myself in the publishing world, seeing how I can familiarise myself with the rules and order of things so I don’t mess this up. I cannot mess this up.
I am beginning to feel like myself again, physically. We take walks in the garden and watch the blue pea plant grow, and then get trimmed, and then grow again. The grass, prickly on the feet we let get wet and dirty when it’s just been cut, soft and brushy after the rain has had a lick, soothes us. Who knew training my mind can make all the physical symptoms go away so suddenly? Very anti-climactic, indeed.
But, as we are eternally placed into this position whereby we need to be grateful for the little things that amount to the big things, I am thankful for it.
We don’t go out anymore, not alone, not just us, and I know how this has taken a toll on you mentally. I wish we could leave, but not yet, not yet, everything seems to be saying not yet.
This year, while writing my memoir, I have learnt that not everything reveals itself in the beginning, that you just need to power through to see what life has waiting for us on the other side. We need to trust that it is something big, baby, something magnificent, we need to hear the voices of our future selves saying just a bit more, just a bit more, and we go on.
I am very much into reading what
has to say these days. He, and (through the old books I’ve had since I was in my twenties that I am rereading now) often catapult me into a different world with their words, and perhaps, for right now at least, that is where I need to be in. It is lonely, but it is safe. For right now, perhaps being safe is all that matters.We do Jane Fonda workouts we found on YouTube in the evenings because you told me how it makes you sleep better. Later, I find that it is not the exercise you’re talking about, but the fact that you know someone as beautiful as she is can live to nearing 90.
You are doing so well utilising the tools given to you by our therapist, and some that we come up with on our own, that you can now manage your feelings really well. You are reading bigger books, widening your mind onto bigger things, asking thoughtful questions and finding answers that lead to more, and I am very proud of you.
Your sister is showing signs of speaking, in her own way, and whenever something coherent pops out of her tiny mouth, I hear you say I am proud of her too.
Perhaps this is how we are different from everybody else around us, in how we see each other fully, and in how we look for the things that we can be proud of in one another’s achievements, no matter how big or small.
It is lonely, but it is safe. For right now, perhaps being safe is all that matters.
Hold on to trust and hope dear Lisha, when all is said and done, none of us have much more. And hold on to safe!
Beautifully written as always ♥️
This is so lovely, Lisha. I envy the relationship you have with your daughters, the positive (yes, I said positive) influence you have on them.