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I am writing myself a kudos post!  I want to give myself credit for the terrific dedication and commitment I have have had over these past, let’s see – – – six years in transcribing my mother’s writings and letters to get them into the form they are in right now.  Today has been an intensely emotional day.  I need to reach out and give myself permission to talk about how I feel with people who love me.  I need to affirm for myself that FEELING is OK.   I have to do this because the part of my work that lies ahead of me is likely to be the hardest of my life.

Thursday my beloveds come – my beloved daughter and my beloved first grandchild who I get to meet for the very first time.  He’s 4 months old now, and even though I am already crying about them leaving before they even get here, I need to let myself feel even that.  Because without my ability to feel what I feel, feel ALL OF WHAT I FEEL, I would miss the breadth and depth and height and absolute miracle of feeling all the love, all the joy, all the hope – – – along with everything else.

I also want to give myself kudos for my courage.  I have one more job to complete before I tackle the really big, hard stuff.  I ‘get’ to put together a total lie of a story about the wonderful time the Lloyd family had on their Alaskan homesteading adventure.  This would be the book far more likely to sell (and Lordy I do need some money) to the general public as an easy-read glance at some American family who decided to – well move to Alaska and homestead.

Over and over again in the 4 volumes I just completed my mother writes that she wanted to write that story.  I don’t think she COULD write it because she — in the end — could not tell the wonderful lie about homesteading that I know she wished were the truth.  Can I write her lie?  Yes, if it will put some food on my table, I certainly can — and I will.

Yet, Linda Girl, how silly is THAT idea?  Perhaps it is the exercise I need — to write the ‘normal family tale’ — well, at least as normal as I can make it while still using my mother’s words.

Contrasted to that will be the book I will write after that.   My guess is that my ++MY CHILDHOOD STORIES will be dropped in between and betwixt the ugly things my mother says about me in her writings (even though she doesn’t begin to tell the truth).  Oh well, I will cross that hot lava volcanic flow when I get to it.

I know I have the courage to write that book.  All I have to do is think about those survivors who suffered abuse as I did, and think about children who are suffering from abuse now — and then try as hard as I possibly can to tell my own truth in hopes that it can help someone SEE why paying attention to what is wrong with a child can shine the light into the darkest places of a child’s life where nobody has ever looked before.

Meanwhile, I have another day to try to move the desert dirt and dust back out of my house.  At least it rained hard yesterday.  The dirt out there is settled for a bit, and that means I can clean inside without it all coming back at me — for now.

And I will practice setting my sadness at my beloveds’ leaving aside for when THAT day comes on the 28th so I can cherish with joy their coming on the 22nd.

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