Nie and Me, July 2007
In the beginning there was my blog.
It was a blog about Not Much at All. Then one day I got tired of writing about Not Much at All and decided to write about Infertility.
But in how many ways can you express how much you don't like being Infertile?
So I decided to write about the good of Infertility.
The late night dance clubs.
The spontaneous trips to Europe.
The ample quiet introspective moments.
Then there was the day when my husband got out his camera and shot a glamorous picture of a French tart we had just purchased at our local bakery.
And that delicious little picture changed me again, so that I wanted to write more . . . deliciously.
Which I did, until at last I was no longer Infertile.
But with child.
So I wrote about Gestation.
The butterfly movements.
The adoration of an internal alien I'd never met.
And behold! A long the way I gained a readership who I loved (though I was always turning on and off my comments, it wasn't them, it was me). I felt at ease to be myself.
Just a titch irreverent.
And my blog was my happy place all the while.
It had been a lovely way to spend the years.
So satisfied, I was, that I made my intention to retire into motherhood without a blog in the diaper bag.
(So to speak.)
But because of a pressing heartache,
and a public that I came to love
(on so many levels)
I could not.
So I continued on, supposing to write about a new founded adventure.
My calling as tribeswoman to The Chief?
But then my sister (and fellow blogger) was in a terrible accident.
And because she is our own, we picked up the pieces of her life and carried on.
Each to their task.
Page posted at the hospital.
Lucy with the baby.
And me, I inherited her children.
Which came with her beloved readers, with whom I vowed to do my best to continue her story.
A job I took almost as seriously
as taking her children
not as seriously as taking her children.
But we noticed with our tasks came a sense of hope. Of optimism and joy.
(despite it all).
Because after all, the gospel is true!
And the love for our sister will be eternal and we felt it.
All of us.
And we desired to share our feelings with whomever might listen.
So my blog evolved (again) with different purposes.
To raise money and awareness.
But mostly, to give my little sister an account of her life while she slept.
When the day came that we heard her doctor say,
"She is out of the woods!"
And started to prepare her world
for her return.
So slowly in fact, that I hardly noticed how heavy it had been.
The whole process of seeing someone die and live again.
In due time I couldn't help but notice
that the more I heard her voice
the less of her voice I needed to be.
Which is a tribute to the natural process
and the fact that sisters are connected in ways that cannot be described
on a blog
But it wasn't until this very evening,
I saw my sister completely herself
with light in her eyes.
So I asked her,
if she were ready to take back her blog.
Her loved hobby.
(Which had grown immensely since sleeping.)
to continue her own story
(in some form or another)
by January 16th
(of this year).
Then as sisters we had an incredible laugh
at all the funny parts
and not-so-funny parts
of the last episodic months of our lives.
And shook hands
(though she said, do it really softly please.)
Then asked me to scratch her back
because it itches.
And with two of her children, I loaded up the car and came home.
Home to see that my blog
looked like me again
(with my tongue stuck permanently in my cheek . . . and wings).
Which can only mean that I am about to enter into yet another phase of writing.
Of what substance I cannot say,
as I kissed my baby good night
I felt like he had his mother back
and with that
I had my sister back.
And in the near future
will have their mother back.
in the end
is all that matters.
So let this be written.
(Because it has already been done.)