This afternoon, I sat down to write. I mean, of course I was already sitting down, but I can’t help think of it as an action I still perform when I am committed to writing. Except that I wasn’t very committed. I ordered sweaters for myself and school clothes for Scarlett. I answered a couple of messages, but not all of them. I thought about the many thank yous I owe to our super generous #whatwouldyougive donors, but thinking about that was as far as I could get.
I’m tired. And I’m frustrated, because everything is hard. Because the dog keeps banging at the blinds in Scarlett’s room, and because my dictation thinks I said hanging instead of banging and banking instead of hanging.
I actually think I should be laughing. Otto is only going crazy because Scarlett put a life-sized skeleton in the front yard, and he clearly thinks it is here to kill us all. I should laugh because I can sit here ordering clothing online, which can only be considered a privilege. I should laugh because the other night when my niece was here for dinner, she toddled all over the dining room and then slid purposely and dramatically to the floor like a buttered noodle, face down on the walnut veneer.
I never try to force the laughter. But it’s always there, waiting for me to access it when I need, which I usually can. We’ve had many visitors in the past week and a half, and it’s been wonderful. My nephew started kindergarten yesterday, and I can see from my Instagram feed that most people’s children have also started. Scarlett’s first day is September 5. So I have her home for a while longer, and that makes me happy, even though she is entirely uninterested in spending time with me, and would rather curl up with an audiobook. I taught her how to do sudoku, and she picked it up right away, but cannot be bothered to engage.
There is a part of me that wishes for those days when she and I were partners in play, when everything we did was theoretically for her, but I got to do all of the deciding. In missing my independence, though, I do not begrudge Scarlett hers. My dad wanted to teach me how to play euchre when I was little, but I refused. My daughter has that same streak, just wanting to do what she wants to do and to learn when the time is right for her. The truth is that I was a little Tiger Mom about the whole sudoku thing, and there might have been tears. As if she is someday going to need to play sudoku at Carnegie Hall.
I feel as hollow as a dried out gourd. I have no idea why I am writing what I’m writing right now. I’m keeping things from you, I admit it. It’s as if I’m having a conversation with an old friend that is so belated it’s simply impossible to touch on anything real, at least right away. So I’m thinking of this post like that, like we just restarted our conversation and it will get warmed up eventually. I do have stories, and some of them are very sad, and maybe that’s part of the reason that it’s been so difficult to just sit down and write.
At least the sitting down part was easy. See? I made a joke. I realize that it was a very bad joke, and that you want your money back now, but keep in mind this blog is free. And so is my dog, if there are any takers on him.
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This is a great and honest start to a new conversation and I think the rest will come when you are ready…not a moment before…….just like your beloved Scarlett.
Dearest Sarah,
I’m so glad you wrote when you didn’t know why you were writing. And no one can laugh because they think they should. Watch out for ‘should’.
Love.
Sorry, Sarah, will have to decline on the dog give-away…probably because you already shared too many stories about him.
agreed! Although Andy would take him in a minute!
another great post Sarah – we can feel right where you are in each post. Your honesty is inspiring. HUGS and LOVE,
MEg
You are a beautiful person and such a beautiful writer and although it must be difficult for most people to understand what you are going though I do not think it is missed. So descriptive in your thoughts it is as powerful as you are funny so don’t loose that ability. You have lost enough. I look forward to reading about your journey and your antidotes while going through the very same disease as you. You lift me up and hopefully I can return the favor somehow in the future. Keep fighting the good fight. I feel like there is a breakthrough on the horizon.
You make me chuckle and chuckle and chuckle. I love that word! I can feel it in my belly. You and I could sit down to many good laughs, Sarah. Until our bellys hurt. I love you, lady! Dianne McGee
Just because you’re funny doesn’t mean you have to be all the time! You dictate far better than most could write with two hands holding pens and no crazy canine in the background. And your “real” lets so many other people be real back. Such a gift, so glad to see your post!
I loved this post and the writing … I know for myself I kills that feeling of living simultaneously in such gratitude and frustration.. having CFS/ME and having a family friend that lived and passed from ALS I am grateful for all I can do but it is so hard not to long for what use to be … for me I still have the luxury of possible remission or regaining of health – And the writing feels very much what I sometimes feel like I’m doing writing the tough conversation that I would rather keep to myself … lot of love ❤️ Heather
I’m grateful for anything you write for the blog, for a connection. I’m tired too, of pretending I’m ok when I can’t sleep because my joints are buzzing from an RA flare that won’t go away. I can’t sit either, cuz my back is worse. So I wait for morning to come. I’m annoyed at my dog too. The vet found a flea. Maybe from the groomer or a wayward walk in the wooded neighbors lot. Fleas. Just when I got the kids back in school again and thought I might be able to find rest and relax. Fleas. And I find myself laughing too, because man life is hard without it. Fleas. Quarantined, bathed, and medicated poor dog, sent kids to grandma’s, threw everything in the wash and deep cleaned(actually my husband did, but I spray misted everything with delouser). Oh, adeu le flea. Anyway-cuz I met you decades ago, always good to hear from you old friend!
Please know that your sharing makes a difference and speaking as one person whom you may never meet, but for whom you have touch, thank you for sharing your random thoughts, your real life. Share what you want, share what you need, please know you have unknown friends who will be here to read, be here to listen and be here to keep praying for you, your beautiful family and your crazy dog. Thank you from Kansas City
We love your words and are changed by your story – the good, the bad, the frightening and the hopeful.
Use this platform to vent. It’s a place of understanding, compassion and complete acceptance.
You are Beautiful.
I’m sorry if I have anything to do with making you sad. I love your blog and the way you write.