Raven on Nostr: How many kids do you have? 3 boys. Are they all grown? Do they live near? I feel a ...
How many kids do you have?
3 boys.
Are they all grown? Do they live near?
I feel a numb spot inside me as I aspire to get all the words out quickly and neutrally.
My youngest is 16, he lives (elsewhere). My middle would be 20, but he passed away 2 years ago. My oldest is 23, he lives next door to me but I rarely see him because...
But they don't hear about my oldest son because they're busy saying, "Oh, I'm so sorry!" or, "Oh no, oh, I feel for you", or, "Oh, wow, that's so rough."
And I am grateful for the sympathy. Sometimes they ask what happened and I fill up with so many more words than the space will hold. I want to spill out the whole tragic, enraging, bittersweet story. Every heartache and outrage.
But this monologue doesn't fit into a regular conversation. A sentence or two and there are responses, sharing similar experiences or further sympathies. Perhaps a question asked or point raised about this or that detail. Then the conversation naturally morphs and moves on.
Feeling this occasional intense desire for monologue I wonder if that is sometimes why "regular" people (i.e. non-celebrities) write memoirs.
I've read memoirs that were obviously written to share an amazing or unusual story. Others were written to share knowledge, insight, or beauty.
Some memoirs I wonder, why was this written? Who cares? There's nothing profound or exciting or insightful or particularly hopeful here. Maybe it's someone's monologue.
#parenting #grief #mentalhealth #suicide #writing
3 boys.
Are they all grown? Do they live near?
I feel a numb spot inside me as I aspire to get all the words out quickly and neutrally.
My youngest is 16, he lives (elsewhere). My middle would be 20, but he passed away 2 years ago. My oldest is 23, he lives next door to me but I rarely see him because...
But they don't hear about my oldest son because they're busy saying, "Oh, I'm so sorry!" or, "Oh no, oh, I feel for you", or, "Oh, wow, that's so rough."
And I am grateful for the sympathy. Sometimes they ask what happened and I fill up with so many more words than the space will hold. I want to spill out the whole tragic, enraging, bittersweet story. Every heartache and outrage.
But this monologue doesn't fit into a regular conversation. A sentence or two and there are responses, sharing similar experiences or further sympathies. Perhaps a question asked or point raised about this or that detail. Then the conversation naturally morphs and moves on.
Feeling this occasional intense desire for monologue I wonder if that is sometimes why "regular" people (i.e. non-celebrities) write memoirs.
I've read memoirs that were obviously written to share an amazing or unusual story. Others were written to share knowledge, insight, or beauty.
Some memoirs I wonder, why was this written? Who cares? There's nothing profound or exciting or insightful or particularly hopeful here. Maybe it's someone's monologue.
#parenting #grief #mentalhealth #suicide #writing