Saturday July 30, 2011
My patience is thin. (Ha. That’s funny. My “patient” Dave is thin, too.) I get anxious waiting for the tea pot to boil, waiting for Lucky to go out a second time in the morning, waiting for him to come back inside, waiting to finish so many projects that will always be work-in-progress.
This week has been a juggle of work. I develop and maintain four websites (including Dave’s life and scholarship site) and all the business social media on Facebook, Twitter and Linked In. No time for the new Google+.
I love what I’m doing – bereavement writing and life celebration through Navigating Grief. My experience now only reinforces how valuable expression is for healing all sorts of losses in our lives. As a retailing entrepreneur I am thinking about the season of holidays, which bring days and weeks of emotional upheaval for those in grief. I await impatiently to receive samples of new products now in test mode on thepublishing system, small tokens of hope and inspiration and memories for my clients. Dreams of more to come fill the spaces in my idea-generating mind. I’m making major changes behind the scenes (technology can be painstakingly slow to complete) to accommodate the safe, secure writing space soon to open to all. This site is the important underbelly for the SFH community I envision. And, so much more work than I anticipated! However, creation is a passion for me. Checking off the to-do list toward my goals? Priceless.
But I am inpatient. Under the best circumstances I suppose it could take ten or more solopreneur hours most days to push this baby out the door. And ideally, I’d have help. But these aren’t the best, nor ideal, circumstances and I am happy to get in six or seven hours of work now rather steadily as Dave sleeps. Work is good for me; a healthy distraction, a continuity I suppose I’ll depend on when he is gone. This reflection writing and the work on Dave’s stories complete with photos, audio, video, and writing are also part of the equation. The line between who I am and what I do are blurred. I am not grief, but grief is me 24/7 right now.
I’m OK with that! I just want to be further along in sharing the tools for healing. I am excited for what’s to come. I am frustrated I not able to have this ready now. Then I feel the pang of quiet around here. I’m working because Dave is sleeping. I jump up to share a thought and Dave is sleeping. I have questions about his stories and he is sleeping. There is no conversation as I work. When he awakens there has been little dream life. He is empty for the first time. His use for sleep is different than mine. Perhaps this, along with the obvious closed eyes, is why so many use sleep as a euphemism for death.
My work will always be here. People’s grief will always be here. Dave cannot. For now, I must remember.
Time, patience. Time, patience.