11.02.04

Four days ago, my Pregnant Cousin gave birth to the most beautiful, healthy baby girl.

Yesterday her brother called to tell her that her father is probably not going to make it through the week.

I can�t even begin to comprehend.

There really aren�t words you can say to someone in a situation like that. Even if you have been through something similar, you are past the initial devastation. I can imagine what she is feeling because I am feeling a bit of it myself: unspeakable grief, anger, helplessness. But it really isn�t even close to being the same.

And saying, �I�m sorry�--those words just aren�t enough.

I have cried with her. That is the only source of real comfort I can give. To mourn with those who mourn. You can�t really diminish the grief in any way; all you can do is participate.

She is actually going to fly (along with husband and baby) to be with him and the family tomorrow. She got the go-ahead from her pediatrician. While it�s not the ideal thing to do, of course, I don�t blame her. I would do the same thing, episiotomy be damned.

Sissa, my prayers, my love, my heart are with you.

:::

Sigh. I�m restless.

It�s a slow week here at work and apparently I have read the entire internet already. I don�t want to read or listen in on the election status because I don�t want to fret over something that I now have absolutely no control over. I�ll check the results tomorrow.

Hardly any of the journals that I read have updated lately, and it makes me feel a strange twinge of loneliness. In any case, the journaling community that I fell in love with initially is hardly the same anymore. So many people have stopped writing entries and/or are just resorting to keeping a blog. Bleh. I am not a blog fan. While I appreciate the links to the latest on Nick and Jessica (or George and John), I miss long, thought-out, emotive journal entries. Of course, not that I�m one to talk. It�s not like I�m working towards a Pulitzer here myself. But lately things have been changing on the internet from what I loved about it.

It seemed, in the beginning, that I had stumbled across a group that I could digitally identify with. Mid-to-late twentysomethings, analytical, idealistic, and educated, wanting to toss their words out to the world and see what they got back. Wanting the voices in their heads to be heard by someone other than themselves.

But I got started late in the game, and maybe by the time I had come along, everyone had run out of angst. They got busy. They got married, had kids, got an involved career, got bored. Heck, I got married. I�m having a kid. And apparently, now I�m getting bored.

But that desire, the one that compelled me to write in the first place, is still there. The desire to reach out, to give that voice in my head an outlet other than my cat. Will that go away once I have my baby? Probably not, but I suppose the time in which to do that in will.

It�s already happened to some extent. I know that the minute I met J, my journal changed. I lost some of that angst. That burning introspection. And a hell of a lot of the sarcasm. I don�t know where it went. I don�t know why it happened. And to tell you the truth, I miss it.

Maybe that�s what happens. Maybe as we get older and we change, and we do all change, that ache to connect fades a little. Especially when we have another person in our lives. I�ll tell you right now, some of the best things I�ve ever written were right after a heartbreak or a tragedy. Maybe our emotions are like an old set of steak knives; in our youth they were used and used until they were dull, but it happened so gradually we just didn�t notice. Suddenly tragedy strikes and we realize that they are in desperate need of a good sharpening.

At least that is how I feel sometimes. Dull. Muted. Softened.

There used to be things in my life that I did to keep me aware of those emotions. Learning the lyrics to that heartrending song that you heard on the way home, watching movies that speak to your heart and just taking all the emotion in until the tears rolled down your cheeks, and enjoying the feeling of your mind literally expanding as you read the raw honest of that novel. And�reading a really great journal entry. It seems like I haven�t enjoyed one of those things in a while.

Is this what happens when you leave your youth?

I suppose all of that is my own fault. I haven�t been reaching out like I used to; searching for those rare sources of light. And maybe I�m only now becoming aware of a mild, subconsciously persistent depression that I�ve been going through. But it does make me sad when all of the old links lead to now defunct journals, or ones that have been reduced to single-paragraph blog entries.

Maybe that era is over. I mean, the innovative, creative group that first started the online journaling community 5 or so years ago has all �grown up.� They have moved on. And now that everyone and his kid sister has a blog now, the medium has completely morphed from what it was. Maybe the abundance of vain words detract from the few sincere voices left.

But. There are still a few of you out there. And your words still inspire me. So, thanks. I�ll keep reading as long as you are willing to write.

before ~ after