How to Never Forget the Losses

One of two terrapins traveling on its annual pilgrimage through my parents' yard.

I'm fond of Facebook...and I think most of my friends are aware of my "addiction." I manage Facebook pages for a few clients, so it's second nature for me to toss up a photo or a pithy saying on a daily basis on my own wall or pages while at that site. While this habit has become...a habit, I've realized lately that my additions to Facebook have become somewhat of a diary.

In my searches for what has happened in my life over the past two years, I've suffered pangs of hurt, sadness, and even utter and bitter loss over and over again. That pain has worsened with the new Facebook "look what happened on this day last year...or two years ago...or even a decade ago..." feature. Although I'm sure this daily reminder of the past is meant well, it can shake my socks off sometimes.

This morning, for instance, I was whacked in the face with the image of the terrapin shown here. Yes, it's just a turtle. But, it's one of two turtles that make an annual pilgrimage through my parents' yard. These two turtles...or their relatives...have been traipsing through my folks' yard since they moved here in 2000. The turtles just don't pass through. They stick around for a few days, playing hide-and-seek with each other and with us in the gardens before they move on.

While at some other point in my life I might have thought warmly about this photo and its family tradition, I happened to glance at the photos that braced that turtle image in my Facebook "mobile uploads" album. Those photos portrayed our first visit to the teaching hospital where mom was first diagnosed with cholangiocarcinoma. We had just returned from that city to discover the turtles in the yard, exactly two years ago today.

I'm glad I have this chronicle of events that happened over the past two years, because those clues are vital for writing the memoir. But, I'm not very keen on how I keep getting pinched by the past in the most unexpected ways. Sometimes, I feel as though I'm picking at a scab. What saddens me further is that we haven't seen the terrapins yet this year.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe I'll get lucky and see them before I have to return home this upcoming weekend. And, maybe one day I'll truly be grateful for the memories.

Beating the Flu

Dad's Gifts, Christmas 2014

Happy New Year! Sorry I've been absent over the holidays, but my body chose that time frame to contract the flu and hold onto it like it was gold. I'm not one of those individuals who likes to complain in public, but dang -- I feel for anyone with this flu, especially for those individuals who received the flu shot. Seems the authorities missed out on this strain big time.

Despite my down time, I accomplished a slew of tasks. I couldn't visit Dad over the holidays because of my illness (hubby was sick, too) and because we were strained financially by the loss of my last client. Still, my daughter and I managed to get out and purchase a few things for Dad and send them to him. He especially loved the kitchen scissors and the denture cleanser (something he can't find that easily where he lives). More about this effort at my Caregiving.com blog, I Won't Be Home for Christmas.

Also enjoyed the Caregiving.com Blog Party. I met a lot of new caregivers who blog about their experiences (many listed already in my "links" section), and I had quite a few visitors. Was happy to hear that "Jennifer" won the invisibility cloak that I offered as a prize. That cloak arrived from London the day before the winner was announced, and I'm sending it back out to Jennifer tomorrow. Hope she enjoys!

Making progress on the memoir, too. I'm looking forward to one more writer's retreat in January to finalize the poetry for the book. Then, by mid-February, I should be able to hand the book over to my editor. After a few beta reads, I'll self-publish the book and it should be available by May at the latest. To celebrate, I've created a website for the book and for future publications, too. Easy enough to remember -- lindagoin.com!

January 3 was a huge day for me, thanks to Denise at Caregiving.com (I happen to love that site, can you tell?). She provided an opportunity for me to plug my memoir and talk about caregiving during a live interview. That interview now is available online at Caregiving's Blog Talk Radio. Give yourself about 40 minutes to listen to us jabber away.

That's about it for now. I am feeling much better, and if you were sick (or if you're currently ill), I wish for your health to improve soon. Let's all focus on a great 2015 so we can stave off the monsters. Cheers~!

The Writers' Retreat

Writing away at the writers' retreat.

I am so very grateful for contributions to my Indiegogo campaign -- which is almost at an end. Thanks to my supporters, I was able to attend the Green River Writers retreat at the Kavanaugh Center in Crestwood, Kentucky, this past weekend, where I had access to solitude for writing, to writers who offered constructive criticism for my poetry (which is going into the memoir), and an opportunity to read part of my memoir to a discerning audience.

I'll never read that piece in front of an audience again. The part I chose was the third section, where my mother dies. The part about breathe. I actually lost my breathe while reading the piece aloud. One fellow writer thought -- just for a second -- that I was acting, then realized that I was almost in distress. But, I pulled it out of the hat; although, today I'm exhausted. Reading that one particular portion of the memoir wore me out as much as swimming the English Channel (not that I can swim, mind you).

I haven't been able to attend a Green River retreat for three years. The last time I attended a retreat, my mother was in apparent good health. It was a constant marvel to me how the past two years flew by, how quickly a story can become a dark memory that's so easily tucked into a corner. By forcing myself to get out, reconnect, and read and write, I'm forcing myself to connect to my mother's death over and over again. I can take it...I hope, though, that none of my perceptions are warped in the process.

This is why it's so important for me to write now, when memories are fresh.

Other highlights this past weekend:

1. My laptop is biting the dust. Crap.
2. Met George Eklund at the retreat and learned about some of his creative poetry processes.
3. I reconnected with several friends who also lost spouses, parents, and friends over the past three years.
4. I connected with new friends who also lost spouses, parents, and friends over the past few years.

One writer friend lost 29 friends -- some close, some not-so-close -- over the past year. We can't figure out if all these losses are normal at our ages, or if we're actually transitioning into a Stephen King novel. The cancer losses are breathtaking.

You can view some photos I took at the conference if you want to feel more connected, too. I'm into black and white photography right now, as you'll learn. I think someone took a photo of me along the way, but I'm not certain. I do have witnesses.

Letters from the Past

Letters, negatives, and other paraphernalia.

Mom left behind a lot of "things" to go through. I don't like her stealthy way of hiding recipes (which all can found found online save a few), coupons (some dated to 2005 or earlier), and newspaper clippings. Other items, like the box filled with letters that her parents wrote the month before mom was born in 1934, are well worth discovering.

I went through this box of letters a few nights ago. Being an historian, I recognized the value of these letters. They're not just love letters filled with endearments...they're artifacts that give a glimpse into what life was like in Virginia in August, 1934.

At that time, my grandmother, Elizabeth, was living in Roanoke. Her husband of barely nine months, Leo, was stationed as a National Guard recruit in Virginia Beach. It was four years into the Great Depression, and my grandparents note the cost of several items. They also talk about borrowing $3.00 like it was a burden and a sin. And, yet, they're about to have their first child together.

I think these letters might make for yet another book...