Saturday, November 7, 2015

A Family of Hope to Be Writers. . .Living what you write?

At present, I come from a family of closet writers.  Well, that actually, that is not the full truth.  Both my sisters blog and middlesis is in a full fledged writing group, edits articles for an online magazine, has won a couple of awards and is working on another novel with the hope to be published.  So of the three of us, she is most likely to be declared a writer.

Babysis also blogs on two separate blogs, but journals avidly.  The vocabulary possessed by these two women is quite extensive. Their way with words proves simply inspiring. But from where did this desire, this innate need to write and communicate through the written word emerge in our family?

Simple answer. Our mom.  Our mom.  This is the woman who would rather not entertain a confrontation and ultimately remained silent.  I am thinking about an unusual Thursday this past June. I am in the den of my parents' home, a dark dank room in the basement of their tri-level home. If I close my eyes and breathe deeply I can almost smell the faint remnants of cigarette smoke that once upon a time consumed this room.  The stained sage green carpet sulks because of the damp moist film that lightly lies on its tread.  What am I doing here, one might ask? 

The answer is simple.  I am beginning the process of clearing out the clutter that has pervaded much of this room and much of my mom's brain.  Over and over I stumble upon articles covering topics such as Alzheimer's and Diet, Alzheimer's and Mood, Screening yourself for dementia and the like.
I am saddened by this, because my mom knew what was going on and instead of communicating her concerns with her family, she felt that going into denial and dealing with her memory issues herself was the better option. I do not know if she felt that we could not deal with this or if she could not deal with it.  Confidence in herself or her family has not been her best attribute.  Why is this relevant? 

Because my mom, who occasionally wrote, wrote beautifully.  When I looked at some of her writings, I am impressed with how reflective and thoughtful they were.  I am surprised by the openness and wonder why that side of her was not on display? Why did she not write more? Sadly, I am struck by how hard it must have been to be living two selves, especially one where you write how you want to live but don't or maybe can't.  Perhaps the writing process that lead her down divergent roads was too painful, hence the reason why her writings were not numerous. Who was she so concerned about disappointing?  Her family?

I find that I am often at this same crossroads and then I think about my sisters.  They live what they write.  They are congruent in their thoughts and beliefs and their actions.  I admire them for that. When I ask myself how can I replicate this, of course I have a lot of requirements to move this living congruently into action.  None, mind you are convenient for one lame reason or another. But life is not convenient.  People encounter many things that they never would have anticipated: job loss, death, divorce, cancer, Alzheimer's. 

I read somewhere that one should write what one knows.  Both my sisters do this. Does one know how to live because they write or do they write because they know how to live? My mom knew how to live within a very confined space, but as I said, her writings were few. 

So at the very least, I am going to act on the notion that the more one writes, the more one learns how to live.  In that vein, I will use this blog to be more accountable in both the living and the writing department.  Who knows?  Perhaps I will find my truth in both.

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