Last week I wrote about being inspired by my trip up North to New England for a visit with family. I relayed about how thrilling it was to tour the Clark Art Institute in Williamstown, Massachusetts and my visit to a gallery in town with some beautiful landscapes by local artists and how I wanted to maintain that inspirational outlook when I returned home to Northern Florida.
During that visit to Williamstown, we also stopped at a used bookstore, where they had a nice selection of books on Writing. There, I spied a copy of Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott and Eats, Shoots and Leaves, by Lynn Truss, the bible of punctuation, still a dreaded subject for me. The former is more about the act and craft of writing as told by a prolific author who shares her background and approach to her own writing and career to inspire others.
These are two books that I’ve been wanting to explore, and there they were, in perfect condition at a used book store price, like they’d just been lying there in wait.
Lately, while thinking about the writing world and the publishing business, I realized that while I’m always writing something new, it was unfortunate that material I’ve written in the past has been lying in book form in boxes, or floating online in cyberspace.
I get tons of emails from writing schools, and coaches about courses and webinars wanting me to enroll in whatever they are offering. It can be overwhelming and as I’ve got a lot going on, I usually just delete them. I can only handle so much. But, one email caught my eye recently, and although I had other things to do, I signed up for this webinar, and actually showed up.
By the end of the webinar, I found myself signing up for the course and paid by the end of the hour-long event. I was truly captivated by what I learned. I won’t share now until I get more involved, and I hope I have the energy and focus to explore the full potential of what I want to ultimately put into practice.
This chain of events also got me rereading and making some changes on my memoir. With each run through, I catch some timeline snafus (remnant widow fog) and add a layer of depth to the book.
While in New York, my brother John and I went up to Vermont to walk some acreage that had been owned by our parents. I posted a photo of the two of us. A very close friend of mine told me she felt a bit jealous that I still had a brother with whom to spend time as she missed her’s. Her brother, who perished in a plane crash and mine, who passed in 2005, had graduated High School together.
It was surprising to hear that. I didn’t think anyone could be jealous of me when it came to losing family members as I’ve lost practically the entirety of mine! I understand what she was saying, though. I often feel the same when I see people spending girl’s weekends and travels with their sisters having lost my only one seven years ago. I explained that sometimes, during the holiday seasons, I just stay off social media for a bit as although I’m happy to see so many families gathering and being together, it can bring a degree of sadness and longing. I’m already seeing so many posts on the online widowed sites from those seeking help to get through the holidays. November is when it all ramps up.
I get it, once upon a time, that was me posting about those beautiful happy occasions spent with my family. I don’t begrudge anyone those special times shared with others, and I realize we can only understand the particular types of grief we’ve personally experienced.
At the time of this exchange with my friend, I was editing a chapter in my memoir about Forgotten Mourners, a term applied to those who’ve lost siblings. In the grief “hierarchy” those who’ve lost siblings are often lost in the grieving shuffle, almost as if their loss isn’t as significant as other losses. Parents and spouses will receive the lion’s share of condolences, but losing a brother, or sister, or even a cousin, can be a very difficult experience in and of itself.
I know that each loss brings unique circumstances and perceptions. Writing about it all helps me to put things in perspective. Bird by bird. Word by word.
