I Write to Survive
Time moves slowly in the publishing world, but not in the real world. At least, not in mine.
This was supposed to be a year devoted to full-time writing. But, as everyone knows, when you make definite plans, the universe delights in upstaging them.
The first six months of this year have been sad and stressful. My mother has dementia. If you've been fortunate enough to not face this in your own families, you can't have any idea how all-encompassing this disease is, how it taunts you, and mocks you, and ravages a family from the inside out. There are still good days. But it often seems that those good days are when the disease is at its cruelest because they offer a fragile glimmer of hope -- only to snatch it away again, and again, and again.
There is no recovery from dementia. The best you can do is cherish the good days, and survive the bad. And do a lot of hugging: it's the best way to connect when words are no longer viable.
And speaking of words...the writing has been going slowly as I try to write in (and around, and over, and under, and through) the almost daily depression I've felt.
Somehow, the words *do* come. My middle grade novel is progressing, there are a couple of picture books that show promise. Even though I haven't accomplished nearly as much as I would have liked at the six-month mark, I carry on.
I'm putting the words I can't say to my mother into my writing.
I'm a writer. It's the only way I know to survive.
This was supposed to be a year devoted to full-time writing. But, as everyone knows, when you make definite plans, the universe delights in upstaging them.
The first six months of this year have been sad and stressful. My mother has dementia. If you've been fortunate enough to not face this in your own families, you can't have any idea how all-encompassing this disease is, how it taunts you, and mocks you, and ravages a family from the inside out. There are still good days. But it often seems that those good days are when the disease is at its cruelest because they offer a fragile glimmer of hope -- only to snatch it away again, and again, and again.
There is no recovery from dementia. The best you can do is cherish the good days, and survive the bad. And do a lot of hugging: it's the best way to connect when words are no longer viable.
And speaking of words...the writing has been going slowly as I try to write in (and around, and over, and under, and through) the almost daily depression I've felt.
Somehow, the words *do* come. My middle grade novel is progressing, there are a couple of picture books that show promise. Even though I haven't accomplished nearly as much as I would have liked at the six-month mark, I carry on.
I'm putting the words I can't say to my mother into my writing.
I'm a writer. It's the only way I know to survive.
posted by CCW at 10:07 PM
2 Comments:
Dear Writer,
I am also interested in children's writng.. and illustrating. My plotting ability is strong, but I have to work had to get words on the page (in a readable way).
I am very sorry about your mother. My elderly friend has is not travelling well with her memory. I fear she will have to go into care soon.
Chin up and soldier on, Jenafer
You are not alone. I went through it in the form of serious medical problems with my mom, my dad, and my husband. During that time it was hard to focus on anything. The highlight of the day was standing out on the porch and listening to the birds sing as I struggled to shake the ever present depression and sense of helplessness and hopelessness.
Hang in there as there is nothing in this world that's permanent.
If you are the sole caregiver, try and get yourself out of the house for a reprieve from the dark cloud that looms there.
You will survive. I know because I did, but you will question that often.
V
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