|Barbara faces the bear|
It’s not easy to pick-up my writing routine after spending the past five months dealing with my husband’s health issues. Some writers could say there is no reason to keep from writing and I tried.
I found there aren’t enough good hours in the day. You know. Those minutes where the ideas flow and the words pile up are precious as pearls. I didn’t have many. I was driving him for medical appointments, picking up prescriptions, helping him with daily activities, cooking, extra laundry, shopping for groceries and sitting at his side for hours when he needed support or love.
I would sit in the evening after leaving him in the hospital and stare at the television as a blur moved over the screen. All I wanted was a good night’s rest. Most nights I fell into bed.
So now he’s recovering. The cancer has been removed. He’s doing exercise to regain his strength and I’m desperately working at returning to the routine I had before.
I will always be a caretaker along with being a wife.
|Sculpture in Montana,|
I’ll never be the same.
I was surprised by the ax that fell on our lives. And I find that I missed writing more than anything. Writing is what I do. A writer is who I am.
The process is important. The regular hours doing what I do have been hard to regain, but I’m slowly forcing the other demands into place.
I’m dreaming of my characters. I’m giving myself space to find my creativity. I’m letting go of the guilt for missing so much time.
|Bundled against the weather|
Do I have any advice for anyone else trodding this road? Hell, yes. Do you?
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