The truth is, it's been a dark time. My last post before my prolonged exile from blogging was back in January. On that day I got news that my cousin, just a few weeks younger than me, had died. It was unthinkable to resume writing here as a professional smart-arse, so I thought I'd take a break before posting a moving tribute to her.
And the break grew. Because I didn't know what to say.
How is it, I wondered, that I can write an eloquent and moving tribute to my crusty and decrepit old cat, and even write a eulogy for a pair of underpants, but can't come up with something for a person - a person who had had their whole life, and the lives of her family and friends, stolen away?
So I waited.
I kept waiting for inspiration to strike. I'm a doctor, I thought. I'm close to sickness and death every day. I must have some keen insight to offer. Some deep philosophy to soothe the pain for those still living. I even tried writing something a few times and came up with nothing but cliches.
Eventually I realized that I had nothing new to say. How could I possibly even begin to enlighten, let alone comprehend? How could I be so vain?
My cousin's brother, who, in a coincidence worthy of the Celestine Prophecy, is also my cousin, sent me a message after she died saying that she had really enjoyed reading this blog and that it had made her happy to laugh at it. I was thinking about that message when finally I decided that if all I could come up with to honour her life was cliches, then I'd do so with the worst cliche of all - "This is what she would have wanted".
So, K, the resumption of this blog is dedicated to you and to everyone who shed a tear for you, myself included. I like to think you would smile to read it.
PTR
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4 comments:
It's a stifling experience, nothing ever seems to be good enough and the clichés and platitudes seem to flow endlessly. I've been through much the same process myself. Possibly the trick is to write about something else rather than not writing at all, I think that's going to be my next step.
P.S. Your cousins brother sounds like a top bloke.
He is a top bloke. 8 feet stall he stands, eyes like black pearls and teeth that shine like gold in the morning sun. He rides the plains on his burro, always on the lookout for waylaid travellers and misbegotten waifs who may need his help. Also, he loves model trains.
Love your work, Ï've missed your words about our insane life that we have chosen.. No platitudes from me, keep writing.
Similar situation myself last year when my spouse did one. Decided to make a hint to it buried in general nonsense and never refer to it again. All or nothing in these situations really. Glad you're back, I was missing the insights into the caring profession.
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