I'm dedicating this blog to my sister, Robyn, who taught me the beauty of the written word. Throughout our lives, writing was the thread that bound us together. It was the current in our ocean. I haven't written a word since her death even though I know it is my only hope at healing. I'm beginning to feel the ebb and flow again...the stagnant water rising with grief's tide. I'm afraid of the undertow, of being tossed around in the whitewash. I've been hiding from it. But from here on out, I must face it head on. Perhaps the words on this page will be my lifeboat...

Monday, September 19, 2011

- four months -

In four months you can grow a crop of corn, fully recover from an ankle sprain, and complete a world cruise where different ports on each of the seven seas are visited. It takes four months for the water in the Nile to reach the Mediterranean Sea, to learn all the basic skills of sewing, and for a baby to start cutting teeth. In four months, you can read the entire bible if covering 10 chapters per day, regrow hair after shaving your head, and have a car made to order from Europe. It takes about four months to ship food to Africa and for a typical couple to conceive a child.


It only took four months to put the statue of liberty together, to install the windmills in the Irish Sea, and for the FRAM to reach the Ross Ice Shelf in the South Pole in 1911.


But in four months, I'm still not over losing her. I keep waiting for my motivation to come back, for my creativity to kick in, for my desire for productivity to overpower this sense of ... stagnancy. But I'm still just floating along, like a castaway on a boat with no oars. I sure hope the current stays strong.