I started this blog October 2010: at my kitchen island, with a (second?) glass of wine, whilst my husband sautéed mushrooms in a cream sauce to go with our filet mignon, on a Saturday night; bluesy music playing.
After a soul-crushing-ultrasound Wednesday, a black-hole Thursday, a hallowing-surgery on Friday.
…questions, projections, recollections…swirling. When life is a blur, we eat steak.
When hell threatens my core again, apparently I start a blog…and eat an expensive steak.
I had thought about blogging for years, but there was something about this loss, at this point in my story, with this movement of grief that made me say, Oh hell no. Hell no. This time, this fear, this loss, will not shut me down, or shut me up. I’m writing.
Thanks be to God.
And so I started this blog, yet held this blog birth close. Close and protected. Until now. Because part of my writer’s block is blogger’s confusion: not so much what to write, but when. So, now I weave in to this a fabric of motherhood. Even though today we have no children in our home.
There is a very real space in life that needs more and more hopeful, loving words. That holy, inward space; womb-like. Lets put out there and celebrate it, no matter how the story unfolds.