On the morning my beloved grandfather, Grandy, passed away, I drove home from his house, with words filling my mind and heart. We knew he was "on his journey" as the hospice nurses told us, and so my mother and I slept at my grandparents' house that last night. Grandy was in a deep sleep, in a hospital bed in his room. I remember, at 20 years old, I was wearing a nightgown with dogs on it, sleeping on the couch in the den. I recall my mother waking me up, saying Grandy was gone, she had heard his last breath. I remember when they came to take him away- I couldn't watch, stayed in the den as they carried him out of the house he loved so much, past the garden he tended with so much care.
When I walked in the door after that drive home, I went straight to the computer and typed. I composed his eulogy as I drove, and as I sat at the computer, my tribute to Grandy took form. I found a poem, Tribute on the Passing of a Very Real Person, which was the closing to my eulogy. Standing in the church and reading it aloud on the day of Grandy's funeral was one small thing I could do to honor him after a lifetime of being blessed by his presence.
This is why I write.
Since then, I've written wedding toasts, letters of recommendation, poems, cards, songs, letters, blog posts. Last December, another eulogy for one of the dearest persons in my life, my Grandma (Grandy's wife).
Life hands us many moments. Big moments, small moments, life-altering times and times when we pause our own life just to notice. Writing is a tool for all the moments- it allows you to honor those who deserve loving tributes, whose lives mattered so very much. It allows you to celebrate those taking big leaps into new futures or new relationships or bringing a new life into this world. Your written words are you recognizing and acknowledging these moments, as only you can, through your perspective, your unique lens. Your writing is a gift.
Sometimes it is a gift to yourself. It's your way of processing life, your worries, your hopes, your frustrations, your passions. Becoming a blogger has been such a gift in my life. It's allowed me to catch moments before they become memories, to grow in my thoughts and ideas about teaching, to hear the stories of other bloggers in our community. Each week, as I read Slice of Life posts, I am changed by what I read. Stories fill my mind and heart and I remember these stories, and though I've never met most of the bloggers, I feel we are friends. I go back to them. Bonnie's letters to Tuvia. Mary Ann's bravery as she blogs so vulnerably about life after losing Rob. Dana's stories of the moments with her daughters. Barbara's tales of her adventures in retirement, her travels, her nature walks, her relationship with her daughter. Julieanne's memorable story of being a child at swimming class, overhearing an unkind conversation. Michelle's honesty and passion for being a writer. Stacey's moments as she "raises a literate human" (now two humans!) Carrie's tale of a young student coping with a tragic loss. And so many more stories that have captivated my heart, like favorite books I've read- these blog posts live in me.
I'm so glad that others write, because I am grateful to read works that make me feel deeply and feel grateful to be alive, despite all the ugliness out there. This weekend, I read and fell in love with Peter Brown's The Wild Robot. I am a better person for reading this book and knowing the main character, Roz.
And so, I breathe, I live, I read, I write. I try to make sense of things. I try to be grateful for people. I try to reflect, question, wonder, get to the other side of the confusion by writing. I want my children to know, through my words, how much I love them. I want to be a better me, and do my part to make a better world, through my words. This is why I write.