In all our lives there are rivers of uncertainty we must cross to reach our destinations. There can be unmapped roads of stone and mud, bounded with thorns and thistles. Never far away is the slough of despondency and always there are oceans of pain and remembrance. I have mine, you have yours.
Just now I'm helping a very dear friend navigate through a protracted and messy set of changes. It's been an emotionally and practically tough time for her and her family; there's been pain, there is still some pain, but there's also rejoicing and hope.
This is the woman who sat with Christine on the morning of the day she died, the woman on whose shoulders I've sobbed countless times. I've known the family for what, fourteen or fifteen years. I've been privileged to become a small part of their lives as a support and a rock. I've seen them smile, they've made me laugh. They've come to me for hugs and to shed tears too. Her youngest sent me some of their poetry and both her children challenged me to write some, and I did. I love them all deeply and I give willingly.
I have no idea where this friendship is going, but I have hope and the patience of a heron. In the meantime, I can cook for them and be there to share life with them. We watch silly films, all of us piled up on the sofa. We can walk and watch the seasons change, hands holding hands. We ran out the other week and watched the thunderstorm growing and ebbing, took delight in the rain and laughed. They dance and sing for me, these elves and færies, these witches and wisepeople. They bring me delight and safety, and acknowledgement of myself, and they tell me I do the same for them.
I wrote a poem for you, my dear. I gave it to you like a blushing schoolboy. You loved it, and one day you will be able to let this all in because it's as true as the blue sky and keen as the wind.
We can gird our loins and be well-shod and look beyond and see the meadow flowers, trees and the blessing of the sky. The road will come easier, and there are welcome stops along the way. I will hold your hand in case you stumble, and you hold mine.
In Other News
Some of you asked about Tessie. She is doing well, is working for the The Trevor Project and at a Master's degree. She has a house and a boyfriend and I visited last Thanksgiving, taking the train up to the Pacific Northwest (a tale, that!) and had a wonderful time. Her house is a home, her boyfriend a delight and she an awesome beacon in the world. I burst with tears and pride when I think what she's accomplished through sheer guts.
I was recently asked to return to the Content Editors fold, and I accepted. I'm still finding my feet and grounding myself there, and figuring out what my role could and should be. I'm open to suggestions from each of you; I intend to move forward simplifying the many support documents (with the help of the E2Docs team), but I'd also welcome feedback on what needs doing, and how I might support it. E2 has been through some stuff while I was away. We've lost a few (ouroborous and dannye come to mind) to death and not a few to tiredness or disillusionment. But there's still a core of community and writers, and we're still going. Let me know how I can help.
I'm writing again, and I'm reading poetry. I'm trying to read more fiction, and I'm trying to write it too. I know I need help, that's why I'm here. I'm going to be asking for help, and feedback and criticism, because there's a rats-nest of stuff inside that I need to get out. I'm my own worst critic; my father's faultfinding voice sometimes becomes my own. I need to change that balance, because I need to improve and expand. Sometimes I need my ego stroking, scratch me and there's still an uncertain little boy just under the skin.
I still feel unworthy of you all, but I'm still here.
Finally, if anyone knows how to defeat the dragon of EUFI, do drop me a note. My technical knowledge is far too out of date. I am an idiot. I had inadvertently downloaded an ARM image rather than an x86 one. Damnit.