SHOUT

Two years ago today, my blog was born. Ironically, it was Mother's Day.

Two years is a dreadfully long time to keep an online journal, especially with what I spill here for the world to see. I have a love/hate relationship with this blog. It takes up my time and requires me to experience everything twice in order to put my feelings into words, which is less than pleasant sometimes. My friends and family members come here to read my thoughts, and that can be awkward at times; but, for the most part, they have let me do my thing without judgment. There are people I know who don't come here anymore because what I write makes them uncomfortable. Although I can see why they feel this way, I'm saddened by the fact that they prefer to know me superficially and remain ignorant of what my life is really like. Especially now that I have more good days than bad and there is a lot of joy to share here. I envy their choice to remain comfortable, as that's not an option for me anymore.

As you know, I was thinking of hanging it up on my blogoversary. Wrapping this up in pretty paper and putting it all away. For a time, I felt like I was writing the same stuff over and over, anyway.

Do you believe in signs?

I do.

I was sitting at the stoplight at an intersection in our neighborhood one day listening to music in my Jeep. I was alone and wasn't thinking about much of anything. What happened next is almost impossible to explain. I felt a voice somehow speaking to me. Actually, it seemed to completely surround me. It spoke just one word, and I could see somehow that the word consisted of all capital letters. My eyes widened behind my sunglasses, and I wondered if I had dozed off in the warm sun streaming through my window for a millisecond. Why I would hear this word in the car by myself thinking of nothing in particular is beyond me, but this occurred around a time I felt really discouraged about my writing. There it was in front of me. In all capital letters.

SHOUT

The traffic light turned green, and the voice instantly evaporated. I pressed my foot gently against the gas pedal, feeling as if I had seen a ghost. Maybe I had.

Two years out from that horribly emotional Mother's Day on which I fought constant panic attacks and lived one minute at a time with a wounded heart just one month after our diagnosis, I continue to write. I continue to look back and see my progress clearly documented. I continue to share Erik's story and the fact that although this journey is not close to easy or pretty, it is still possible. I continue to see that although life will never get easier, it will continue to evolve and change. The world didn't end the day we were diagnosed, and I will continue to expose myself this way a little longer. I will continue outside the boundaries of my own comfort zone.

I will continue to SHOUT.

Quote of the Day

Never apologize for showing feeling. When you do so you apologize for truth.

-- Benjamin Disraeli

Open Arms

So now I come to you, with open arms
Nothing to hide, believe what I say
So here I am with open arms
Hoping you'll see what your love means to me

-- "Open Arms," Journey (1982)

This is just a note to express my gratitude to everyone who e-mailed me, called me, and commented on my recent post. Even some very friendly lurkers spoke up for the first time! Welcome! In fact, the response was so incredibly overwhelming that it was not possible to spend the time I wanted to in order to respond to each and every one of you the way I would have preferred. This will have to do for now.

I suppose the mixture of emotions in my heart now is to be expected in this long process. However, blogging brings a very interesting twist to it all. Since I have been writing my feelings down here and so many people are reading them now, I am truly experiencing some degree of guilt about what I am expressing. I know some of the things I write many people would personally keep to themselves. There is also the fact that I am developing a teensy-weensy case of stage fright. For those of you who have never met me, just two years ago I was nearly too shy to go to the grocery store. I actually dreaded the social interaction! One of my friends will insist I look quite confident in a nerve-wracking situation, but I wear a triple coat of pit stick before speaking to strangers or giving a speech. The irony of what Williams syndrome means socially in my own child is not lost on me. Ha ha. Very funny, God. There is no longer the remote possibility I can successfully slip by unnoticed in a public setting when Erik Quinn is with me. I suppose that is also true on line. After all, he is the reason you are reading this now. There would be no blog and very little of my writing without him. I would still be hiding at home.

I have thought long and hard about what to say here. There is no way I can really voice the gratitude I feel for all of your support and encouragement without sounding like I am reading the lyrics off the back of a Journey album cover, so I will cease and desist for now.

Thank you.