These last few weeks (and the weeks ahead) have been hectic. Not just busy, but… empty, and full.
We had a death in the family, followed promptly by news that another family member was entering hospice care. As soon as we finally got the Big Kid back into school from snow days, she had to be checked out for a funeral.
About a year and a half ago, I wrote The Weight of Grief, and as I said there, grief weighs a lot. This new grief built slowly, though, over the last few years, a constant concern, a distant dread.
Death, however, is an exercise in forever being unprepared.
It still punches you in the gut, despite you bracing and ever knowing it’s coming, and much like the knock that killed Harry Houdini, you are caught unaware.
The looming fear of mortality strikes again.
“Yeah, I think about the end just way too much.”
I sometimes wonder if others worry about this as much as I do. What am I saying? I know some do. I just wonder how many of us.
A panic rises in me, wondering how many things I have to get in order and how long I’ve got to do it.
Ah, but that’s another verse for another time.
I’m still going. I’m still here.
On the book front, I’ve focused more on my Adult Urban Fantasy story in the last few weeks, laying out a lot of groundwork for the story to get going. I’m hoping to launch that one this year! We’ll see. *fingers crossed* We’re going through so many changes, so many ups and downs, that I’m trying to give myself time and space to work it out.
I told myself I had to. It’s 2018, after all.