Coping With History

One of my brothers is a nerd... Ok, they're all nerds, but he flaunts it more. Anyway, he reads this webcomic called XKCD and sometimes it's beyond me. The writer used to work at NASA and plays with physics for fun. Most of the time, though, I get the joke  and its the sort of funny that gets you thinking. Wednesday's was especially timely.

It makes me wonder about what sort of celebrity gossip got swapped and dissected over fast food in the Roman Empire, or what forgotten tragedies shaped generations of Suomi. What did sibling rivalry look like in pre-colombian America? How did kimono get to be a Thing?

For me,  I'm sad for the stories that aren't here.  I could have told you about teenagers and middle school, or the end of our diapering era. There was choir concerts and trumpet shopping, the discovery of a local Christmas festival, our first big road trip and our budding flag magnet collection. I started going to an annual yarn convention and learned how to use a drop spindle. Elena grew at least six inches in the last year. Eli was added to the family. James was discharged from speech therapy but started occupational therapy, and is now getting discharged from that. Lucy has a vast array of invisible friends. Joseph has deep thoughts and a mind that is probably more broken than mine. Jonathan got a job with his dream employer. Pretty much all of us have ADD, apparently.

And I didn't write any of it here. So much history. So many stories. Write it. Write it in detail. And put your soul into it.

Hello?

It's been nearly five years. I meant to come back after just a few months. And then I had something huge and internal I was struggling with for at least a year. And then I felt like I couldn't come back unless I explained that, but I couldn't. At least, not then. And certainly not all of it. Some of you know. Fewer know all, because I usually leave out a key aspect because that takes even more explanation and that explanation is almost no one's business.

And time went by.

My heart healed as I came to terms with what I had, then broke again when my mom died. My children--five now--grew, and their problems did, too. My husband finally had a proper career, one he wanted, and that allowed us to move away from our hometown, but close enough to still visit frequently. We fell in love with our new home and were even able to finally buy a house, though the means to do so came at the cost of both my parents and the last of my grandparents. Some days, I wonder if it's worth it and say I would happily be an eternal renter if it just meant I could get answers to a few questions I have for my mom. And really, I'm not entirely sure home ownership is all it's cracked up to be. Sure, you can paint the walls and hang whatever you want on them, but you also have to deal with the roof after windstorms or the mouse in the garage. We deal with what we have, though. We got a cat. And a dog. And another cat. Then lost the dog. I'm glad we were able to give her a home in her old age but I now firmly believe that we're just not dog people. I lost another pregnancy, too. That was a triple blow--the loss itself, not having Mom to help me, and because, while it was a surprise, it was also our last. Like being handed a free cookie on the way out of the store and then a bird immediately sweeps down and snatches it out of your hand. You certainly aren't going to go back in and buy a new one, but it was still your cookie and you were planning on enjoying that.

And so we move on.

It's time for a new phase of life, now, and that brings a new set of thoughts. It's time to be back.