I’ve had this website for many years. What to do with it? I haven’t decided. But I can say that since its inception, I have become a paid, published writer. It’s part of my life now. That story that went sideways in 1979 has come full circle. And I am at peace with it.
I’ve lost a bit over these years, too. My mother to dementia. My first husband to a stroke. A favorite cat. A beloved dog.
A son living under my roof.
But I’ve gained too.
Italian and Jewish in-laws who make me feel like I’ve found home whenever I sit at their tiny kitchen table, with their family crowded around, always leaning and adjusting to fit. Rose in the corner by the stove, fussing over food. My son, in love with his fiancée and child, taking it all in like it’s a scene straight out of Moonstruck.
And mostly, I’ve survived.
Two fire evacuations. Three wildfires.
COVID.
Thanks in part to Girl Scouts, travel, and my brilliant mother, a public health nurse who took me on her patient home visits. She taught me everything I know about public health. She believed vaccinations were the true miracles of our time. Who would have thought her convictions would be put to the test in such a way?
We got vaccinated—many times. We lived through it. Thank you, Mom.
Now?
Empty nester, living a Golden-Girls-minus-one life. I am a proud grandmother. This shocks no one.
A long-held best friendship with that Norwegian blonde girl is still going strong. And her damn dog. She always has a damn dog. Because she always has a golden retriever. Enough said.
What’s next?
I think I might write and share my thoughts on death and grief. Grief and survival. Maybe a book. Who knows. We don’t talk about grief enough. We don’t share enough about death.
Some events you never “get over,” but you survive. Just look at Anderson Cooper, still grieving the loss of his mother to the point of creating a podcast to talk about death and come to terms with it. If that’s even possible.
I have a Substack, and I may do the deep writing dive there.
Will I link to it from here?
Probably not. But I’ll be out there doing it, and that’s the most important thing. Next to my grandson, that is.
Cath