My friend had an emergency hysterectomy. Another friend was found delirious on the floor, almost dead from a septic hip. Emergency surgery saved her as well.
A.'s daughter died, at 27, of a drug overdose. Her 10 year old grandson is now an orphan and the two youngest kids have a father who is usually in jail, on the psych unit or stoned. A. has a house full of children and can't work. Plus her daughter died. Her daughter died.
So-and-so, who I love, lost his job.
I have been unable to forgive a couple of people in my life for wrongs done to those I love. This failure of mine eats away at me.
Yet my last post was about the weather.
I want to write honestly but I know this blog will remain a document about the surface of things. I read blogs where all is revealed, where hearts are emptied out in an apparently therapeutic fashion. I could never do that. Many things I will never say on the web, on camera or even write down in a paper journal. I have written a few honest letters and I can talk to my good friends, to my siblings and to my capacious husband but to make certain feelings permanent by recording them is too risky for me. I fear being discovered.
I can write here like I write in the boat log and the flight book and the journal at the cabin. This blog can serve as a travel journal and a baby book, a scrap book for knitting projects and a photo album.
33 killed at Virginia Tech. 178 dead in four bombings in Baghdad. I feel it like a blow but it won't make it into the blog. The blog is for the good things that I can say anywhere. Like....
Happy Anniversary, Dave. I love being married to you.
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