Committing to Write

Over the last two years, I have been compelled to write for a reason I could have never imagined. My son became ill with a brain cancer and the ensuing days, weeks and months were filled with unusual and life-altering events. These required communication to various points around the country while trying to salvage what remaining energy my wife and I had for our family.

The by products of this habit were plentiful, if not unexpected. I spilled my emotions onto the keyboard and in lieu of talking about our plight with strangers, I wrote for anyone who would read it. It drew in a support group of people from all over. Those that knew us personally passed the information on to those that didn't and before long, we had a long list comprising a support community.

While the most outwardly tangible effect, it was hardly the most pronounced. I knew that regardless of the outcome we faced with my son's cancer that the record I was creating would serve as an archive for his sisters and our extended family, not to mention posterity. Then there were the psychological effects of writing.

Forcing my emotions into structure on a regular basis allowed my subconscious to quiet down and imbued me with peace for a time. When I felt emotionally bound up again, I would return to the computer and hammer out what was on my mind. It became therapy.

Our experiences lately have been horrifically and uniformly uninteresting. Days are similar in a way that will never change. We cannot reverse the outcome that we've lived through. We lost our son almost 9 months ago. Daily we awake and are struck over and over with that reality. Our daughters age, our nieces and nephews grow, the seasons change. But he will always be gone. It's sad. Devastating. Worthy of being mourned over and over. But it's also very circular. I come back to the same realities time and again. Having a mind that perseverates on issues until a solution is found leaves me mulling this reality like a tongue probing the empty socket of a pulled tooth.

So I have decided to write. I'm not sure about what all the time. But I know its been a helpful habit in the past and I'm searching for a bit of something to lighten the burden of our reality. It seems that in the absence of a solution, discovering ways to cope is our only alternative.