I started this blog so many lifetimes ago. I'm not sure it can be called funambulism for beginners any longer. I surely am no beginner. I no longer have small children and I mastered funambulism of life long, long ago.
And who writes blogs any longer? When this was started, I didn't know about social media and blogging was the way to connect to the world outside my living room.
I no longer crave that connection to other adults that was missing because my kids were small, one was sick, and I felt siloed in a world of work and child care. But now, in a world full of instant online connection, I find I'm missing the catharsis of writing down my thoughts and feelings and letting it go into the ether. I don't care if I connect with others. I just need to let it go.
Our amazing Dancing Queen died ten months ago yesterday. There is a not a waking moment since then when she is not with me. I may be taking a deposition, but she is sitting in the room with me, wondering why I am worried about these boring corporate things.
I only read and listen to stories I think she would love.
I feel like Taylor Swift's "Tortured Poets Department" was written for me because it is just so filled with sadness and anger and sung by my girl's favorite. Even though the songs are about hearts broken in romantic entanglements (not due death), I listen to it constantly, even when no music is playing.
I'm drawn to all of things that the Dancing Queen loved. I came inches away from buying a sweater today simply because it had a fox on it. My girl loved foxes. I'm not sure I'd ever wear the sweater, but I want it because my girl would love it. It's still in my cart, waiting for me to check out.
Yet, I cannot read her stories. The Dancing Queen was a writer. She has literally hundreds of stories or parts of stories saved in her google drive. I promised I would help publish those for her after she was gone, but I've only done a handful so far because it is too difficult to read her words. I feel horrible that I can't do it yet. I know I will get there, but it is so hard to even fathom having the ability to read them without her nearby to share the experience. Maybe putting this out into the world will help me forgive myself for grief postponing promises. I know my girl wouldn't fault me.
On top of all that, TRex is away at college now. We have an empty nest. There no longer is anything to balance. All I can do is hope that I parented him well enough to make wise choices now that he's an adult and be humble enough to realize when he needs help if he didn't make the wise choice or the choice is unclear. Sitting back and letting him make those choices is so hard. Not knowing what he is doing, who he is meeting, if he is adjusting, is so hard. All of it makes me crazy nostalgic for those harried days when he was little, telling me about pachycephalosaurus, reciting movies at night, or reading "Horton Hatches an Egg" for the ten gazillionth time.
I miss my boy.
I miss my girl.
