I Do Not Have The Answers

My mother-in-law died. I am in the in-between place. Judy was mine, but she wasn't. Her stories, her life, her memory belongs to Thomas and their family, far more than it does to me. So I poured myself into finding black pants that were long enough (while thinking how ridiculous it is that clothes are so important when someone has just died), and making travel plans for Thomas to go to the funeral, and I did not touch my keyboard or pen.

Almost a week later, and I feel like I'm peeking into the little window by the door of the internet to check if it is all clear before I knock and gain entry.

Is it safe in there? Will I be hit again by the name of loved ones who have passed when I look at facebook? Will I find stories of cancer in my feeds when I try to read blog posts? Will I feel overwhelmed by the amount of messages, notifications, emails, blog posts, and social media stuff that went down while I was away? Probably.

I feel like I have forgotten how to write in this space that is sent out to the world. I feel suddenly unsure about my words and my place.

I am left sitting with my journal this afternoon, pouring out thoughts about what is really important in life and relationships, and why don't I just call that person I love, and why don't I know more about Japan, and what happened to a boy with a black hat and a little red-haired girl who followed him around, and what is the rate of inflation from 1889 to 2014, and did I say the right thing to Katarina when I told her her grandma died, and to Thomas when I told him his mother was gone, and what was that recipe for cookies that did not have peanut butter in them, and how mysterious can a person actually be, and how many people make transatlantic crossings by boat, and should you give early journals and diaries to your children to read while you are still alive and can answer questions (and if so, at what age) or should you burn them all now before they can be found, and why did I have a dream last night where I heard every theme song from the shows I watched during my childhood, and should Pandas be classified as bears, and why are some people incapable of remembering things?

And at the end of this exercise, I realize that I have very few answers in this life. Especially about the important things. Sure, I could look up answers to questions about inflation and pandas and transatlantic crossings, but I don't have the mental energy to do that today, and I probably won't think to do it tomorrow. Those questions are not the ones that sit heavy in my mind; it is the other questions, the ones whose answers I can not google that call out to me.

Maybe I will find find those answers by writing, and maybe some of those things will find their way into blog posts one day. Because writing is what I know, and it is how I process life. Even when I feel unsure and unarmed.

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