I write all the time. Snippets, descriptions, scenes I want to remember, feelings I want to process. It’s all in my head. In my head as I drive, as I wash my hair, fold the laundry, unload the dishwasher, mow the lawn. As I walk through the house, cleaning up and putting away, and as I try to fall asleep at night. I see the words as I watch the Roc try to navigate social situations, situations that are not so simple for him. The words stream, they slid down and lodge themselves behind my sternum.
But for over a year now, most of want I want to say never makes it to paper or my keyboard. I could say that life has gotten in the way, and that is true, but that’s not the whole picture.
One of the biggest reasons is that I feel blocked. In different ways I have been blocked. It shows in the time lapses between posts. In the posts full of pictures but few words.
I do not know how much to tell anymore. I post the pictures, the fun, and the steps of progress…but I no longer post as much about the hard stuff. I want to respect the Roc, his privacy and his feelings, should he read this in the future, and even if he doesn’t. I worry that writing about the hard paints a negative image of the Roc and our lives. As he has gotten older, some of the hard involves other people, and I find it difficult to write about those situations, and so I don’t.
A couple weeks ago GC I were going backwards, jumping around in my blog commenting to each other over the photos and the things we were doing, the issues we dealt with and then forgot about, as new issues took their place. I realized that I still want to record our story. Where we have been and where we are going. I want to keep recording, the big things and the little things, the happy stuff and sometimes, when I can, the hard stuff. I want to connect, because so often I feel lonely on this journey, and I found connections by opening up and writing about our lives.
So on the way out the door to meet my friend and her kids at the lake a few weeks ago I grabbed my notebook. I knew the Roc would want to stay at the beach much longer than my friend’s kids and I figured I could release the valve onto paper while the Roc played in the sand.
I wrote and wrote, scribbled the thoughts that I have been holding in for months.
Most of them won’t make it here. And that’s okay.
Because some of them will.