Today I decided to begin a new blog. This is a momentous occasion for me. This is far from my first blog. My former publisher required me to attempt to build my "brand" via blogs. I used to dread sitting down to write my blog entry. I'm not trying to sell anything this time around, though.
Generally speaking, I am a private and I view social media as a stalker's best friend. I have always been quiet, even as a child, although under the right circumstances I can be loud and nutty with the best of them. Most people cannot comprehend the courage it takes to make your voice heard when you an intense introvert.
Writing does not come easily to me now, and that pains me. I used to write little fairy tales for my cousin before I even started Kindergarten. Words used to flow from me into paper (or typewriter, word processor and now computer). I wrote to friends and family, pen pals, stories, poems... I lived for the almighty word. I have lost that gift. In some ways I think it is a blessing in that I find it easier now to interact with the real world around me because my head isn't stuck on formatting a plot line. All the same, sometimes the loss rears its ugly head and makes me feel like I've lost myself.
If you aren't aware, I had a heart attack when I was 38 years old. It was difficult, and I'm still on that path to recovery. I have found it to be a long process. I have memory lapses, and things I still do not remember. I am a different person from the one I was before. Even my son says I smell different. My tastebuds are different. My preferences in almost everything are changed. It takes me longer to think of what to say, or write in this case, and I suspect I often do not express exactly what I meant to say. It will be two years at the end of May since my surgery, and I still have not regained everything. I suspect some of those gifts are lost forever.
We can call it a long, drawn-out process. I prefer to call living. I refuse to give up because I've lost a few things. I'm not as smart as I once was. I'm not as young as I once was, either. I have gray hair and need bifocals now, but I still get up and do what needs doing. I know what it is to despair in times of darkness, to give in, to feel like it is hopeless. I also know what it is to be carried away from that pain in arms of light, to be loved and comforted through the terror and pain.
There is such beauty in this world, but too often we can fall so deep into the swamp of despair we can't even see it any longer. That's the life I had before my heart attack. Deathly experiences such as that truly put things into perspective. Although sometimes it may be hard, I will give all I can to others, because in the end, all we can leave behind is love. It is that simple. That is the secret to my life, in any case. Love. I hope when I die (again) that is what I will be remembered for. I can't think of a greater legacy than that.
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