My Writing Muse had been on extended leave...vacationing somewhere due east of Nowhereville, apparently. But she's back, though I'm not thrilled with the impetus for her return. She sits faithfully on my shoulder only in times of crisis or stress - my tool for working through it all.
And there's an awful lot to work through right now.
I get twitchy when I need to write and can't. And for this round of trials, I couldn't write about it for six whole weeks. There were others who had to be told before I could put words to my devastation, and reading a public blog was not the way for them to find out. The process of having the conversations was convoluted. The list included parents, step-siblings, offspring, in-laws, outlaws, friends and co-workers - taking place in a certain order, using delicate timing.
So I spent the time trading texts with her, getting details, and then stirring up an interwebz smorgasbord of information with Chef Google. Sifting through medical lingo and supercalifragilisticexpialidocious pharmaceutical names was somehow comforting. I added links to my favorites at a lightning-fast pace.
I found Caring Bridge, and started the uphill battle of persuasion...she insisted that no one needed to know, or cared to know, about her progress.
But I'm a writer. I told her it was for me.
She's gotten messages of love and strength from so many people, many who don't even know her...but they know me. I'm touched to the deepest places in my heart to know that my friends would reach out to her in this way.
And then...I found my own place in the battle. Being so lost, unfocused, wanting to do more but being so far away...it was comforting to be able to choose my warrior symbol:
I'm standing strong. And writing strong. And just trying to be strong. Because we have each other. And I think she needs me.