Last week, I made a grandiose statement about how I was going to be funny again. I am funny, I can make this funny, I will be funny, et cetra, et cetra.
In my mind I resolved to not write again until I could think of a funny something to write about POST passing that was still topical to this blog.
I couldn’t think of anything. I tossed it over in my mind several times – trying to pinpoint an element of humor and I couldn’t do it. Aside from the time my aunt misheard a story and ended up questioning Z’s survival box (which was actually not a bible box – which was actually her urn) but I wrote about that back in early September and I’m not feeling up to recycling yet.
Apparently, I’m unable to find humor in the events related to the passing of my child or husband.
When I write it out like that, obviously, it sounds gross and I won’t be able to do it because straight up trying to be funny about these deaths is weird and hard. But still, here I am.
I’m not totally humorless in life. I don’t spend all my time examining the topics of grief and spousal loss and child loss. For example, I have a very funny story about why I took a $25 gift card from someone at work and returned it to the giver last Friday. That’s funny. It was also hilarious when I gave a Chanukah gift to a Methodist friend this past week.
But I don’t really want to write about those things here because this is my project about love and loss. Not my project about the follies of gift giving and Christmas gift work theft.
I guess I’m going to have to ease-up on myself and the constraints I set for my blog.
I challenged myself and failed, but I will keep trying to think of something funny and topical. I will keep writing even without satisfying that challenge because If I place my limitations too tight, I will lose my focus and I will stop writing. No one wants that.
And as much as this blog is my project of love and loss, it is also my instrument of working toward inner peace and acceptance with this stupid situation. I write this for me, not for an audience*. Which makes these personal challenges less necessary and more contemplative.
Chances are this silent night is going to be tumultuous. I’ll need a center. I’ll need a touchstone. I’ll for sure need three haircuts and I’ll need to write about it.
As per usual, this entire business is ridiculous. My need for this blog is preposterous. 0 stars. Would not recommend.
*I write this for myself. I proof-read it for an audience. There’s my secret.
I am glad you write for you but I love that you let me in, that you share your thoughts, and emotions with me (and others). I hate the topic and I wish I was reading a blog on holiday high-jinks instead. I will be here reading what you write, wishing I could do more but not knowing what that more is. I will bare witness to your pain, your love, your life. I will bare witness to Z, her life and her death. Love you
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I can find the humor…it doesn’t last. I can reach out and touch the pictures….they aren’t real. But when we sing “beyond the moon and stars” during Mass, it brings me to my knees.
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