THE RESURRECTION OF WRITING

One year.

That's how long its been since I last updated my blog. 

One year and one day. 

In that time, my world has changed. Its been destroyed and built up and revitalized all over the course of 12 months. I've become a wife, a well-traveled city-girl, and a daughter without her father. 

I've typed and backspaced eight or nine times now, trying to write about all of the exciting new things infiltrating my life: a spectacular wedding, Luke's new career, a chic high-rise apartment. That's what I wanted this post to be about. But I'm left thinking about that last line; a daughter without a father.

You don't know it at the time, but you join a club when your parent dies. For a while, it feels like it defines you. Its full of people who pretend they know how to deal with guilt and pain-- and grief, and sorrow. We grit our teeth and smile, but none of us really know what the hell to do.  Its full of people who look at you differently on holidays because they know what its like not being able to make a phone call or share a meal. Its full of people with open arms who suggest a Xanax or a pitcher of Mimosas on Christmas morning.

So while I'm excited to share my life and the resurgence of my writing, what I really want to do is call my dad. I want to tell him that I'm okay, mostly okay.  I want to tell him that I'm 217 miles closer to mom. That I'm happy. That Luke is a great husband and partner. That Hippo would never fit on his lap now. And that I'm trying to clear my head so I can write again. 

But writing is hardly about being cloudless. Its poignant and being so profoundly confused or messed up that your poor brain melts out of your head, tattered and tainted, and seeps on to bright white pages with fresh black ink.

So today, after one year and one day, I resurrect. I take my raw edges and stop trying to smooth them, carefully and delicately, like ripping a new edge will ruin the paper and should be thrown away. Today, I go on. 

A Letter To My Future Self

Written: 3/2/2018
To be read: 3/2/2023

Dear Carolyn,
How are you? As you know, I am a compulsive planner, daydreamer, and visualizer. I have already conjured fantasies of what life will be like at 34 years old and it’s shiny and bright. I hope the wedding was as much fun to attend as it was to plan. You and Luke are quite the team. Too bad you didn’t write a letter for yourself at 16. You would have never guessed you’d be marrying your high school best friend. Did you spring for the black and white dance floor? What did Luke think of your wedding dress? Did dad walk you down the aisle? I know he was practicing last time we talked. A few years ago, you didn’t think he’d be here. Gosh, he is still here, isn’t he?

I bet you have a few beautiful children by now and plenty of nieces and nephews for them to play with. Is Luke keeping the kids up too late to watch hockey? He must be a doting, caring father, just like he is with Hippo and Iggy. Remember how lucky you are to have someone who loves you unconditionally and do wonderful things for him unexpectedly. I know you were excited to have kids, but make sure you take time for yourselves to be husband and wife. Date nights to 167 Raw and weekend trips to Sea Island are still a must.

In your late 20’s you took risks, decided to travel, witnessed true miracles, and learned that family is more than blood. I hope you are as happy now as you once were at 29, doe-eyed and open to all that life had to offer. Did you build your dream house with white cabinets and a gas-lantern flanking the front door? Did you buy the fine china with indigo leaves? Are you still living in Charleston amongst a sea of friends? As long as you are with Luke, those things don’t matter. Remember to be content with what you have and appreciate your good health and family. Keep calling mom twice a day and taking the dog back to Pittsburgh to lay on dad’s lap. Visit John over spring break (you are still a teacher, aren’t you?) and take him out to lunch on his birthday.

If life moving forward is anything like the intro to Pixar’s ‘UP’, brace yourself. Know that you are strong enough and smart enough to figure anything out. Luke may wipe away your tears but have enough guts to pick yourself up. Don’t let misfortunes rest on your shoulders, remain positive and remember you have done this before.

So here is a toast to 34. Tonight, go out and celebrate all of the wondrous things that surround you.

I AM

'I am' 
I am filled with darkness that rots like an oozing sore that hasn’t been bandaged
I wonder if you have a scratchy gray monster that gnashes its teeth above your head
I hear a scuttling claw click across a cold linoleum floor
I see a narrow hallway that fades into the distance
I want the two-ton terror sitting on my chest to vanish
I am filled with darkness

I pretend to slice open the back of my brain with a sharp fingernail 
I feel the balloon shrivel, air squeaking as it deflates
I touch and poke the gooey red rubber
I worry the throbbing heart won’t leave my head.
I cry when I surrender, screaming face down into a pillow
I am filled with darkness.