On Writing

I realized today that I’ve only written on the blog once in the last week. That’s the longest break I’ve taken from it since I started. Some of the break has been due to travel—in the past six days, I’ve driven 900 miles, from DC to my dad’s house, up to the NC mountains, back to my dad’s house and then down to Topsail Island, where I am now. Some of it has been because it’s been a busy six days, full of friends and food and visiting. But most of it has been because I haven’t felt much inspiration. When I began the blog, it was a incredibly helpful way for me to organize all the thoughts and feelings about Hudson’s death that otherwise threatened to overwhelm me. For a long time, some kind of theme or story would just emerge from the tornado, making it easier for me to express, even to myself, how I was processing it all.  These days, those thoughts and feelings are less like a tornado and more like a constant rainstorm, drumming in the background of every day.

And then I went through a period of time where I felt like I had to write on the blog every day. I think some part of me felt like I owed it to Hudson, as if writing every day were the only sure way to keep her close, to keep her memory alive in my heart and mind, and in the hearts of minds of many other people. I’ve since learned that that’s certainly not true. Here I’ve only written once in the last week, and yet I’ve thought about little else but my girl during that entire time. The missing, the longing, the remembering—none of it changes one bit whether I write about it or not.

And then I worried about my readers, wondering whether people would stop reading if I stopped writing as often. On many of the earlier days, this was a good thing, encouraging me to write even when I didn’t feel like it, as long as I had something to write about. On many of those earlier days, I needed to write as much as I needed to cry. Now, although I still cry every day, the gut-wrenching, sobbing kind of cry comes less often. And I don’t get the same intense pain in my chest throughout the day that I used to get at the beginning if I went through the day without crying. And I guess my need for the writing is the same—I still need it, just not as intensely. And I have to remind myself that although I appreciate every single comment I have received on the blog, the comments and responses have been an unexpected gift of writing—I didn’t start the blog for the purpose of getting them.

A friend asked the other day if I had thought about starting a new blog that would focus just on this new pregnancy. I have thought from time to time about whether, at some point, I would feel the need to wrap this blog up and start a new blog about our family as it grows or maintain two separate blogs, one about Hudson and one about everything else.  I’ve never gotten very far in that thought process. I mostly worry that our future kids will somehow feel “less” than Hudson, that she will end up seeming larger than life in her death. When I originally set up the blog, I fretted over whether making the URL “hudsonsonegoodthing” (“onegoodthing” itself was already taken) would somehow make our other children feel slighted. I’ve had to remind myself that it will be a very long time before our kids are even aware of such things and hopefully by the time they are, they will understand and think Hudson is as much a part of their lives as I do. This process of parenting after such a terrible loss will be much harder on me than it will be on them.

My instinct is that “One Good Thing” has become a life’s work, that making Hudson and her lesson an integral part of our family is the best way to honor her spirit and keep her alive in all of our hearts. So I think that this is my blog. My only blog. While its focus over time may shift, part of it will always be about Hudson, and how my love for her and my grief for her loss has shaped all of our lives. Forever.

I may not write every day. But Hudson is always here with me. As are all of you. And for those things, I am grateful.