My voice is back (or is it?)

After another week of enforced silence I can make proper vocal sounds. Woo Hoo. Time to celebrate. Say something. Shout it from the rooftops. That’s all very well but I just don’t think I have anything to say.

I don’t want to talk about death anymore. Actually, I’m more than happy to talk about death but I don’t want to fill the blog with it.  This was supposed to be a place where I could notice the funny things in life and bring some humour to the deeply tragic. Things might have tipped too far into the tragic.

After you have broken there is an opportunity to put yourself back together in a new way. I consider this every time I lose my voice. When it comes back I wonder what I have to say. This is also how I feel about the grief driven wilderness years. It’s not a place I want to be stuck but where to go after is a bit of a mystery.

 Generally, how to live life in this period of my life is a bit of a mystery. I talk to friends and we all feel the same. It’s a limbo period and one we have no role models for. Our careers are plodding along; we can see the end in sight although not close enough to touch. The excitement of promotion and success that we had in our youth is gone. Our children are grown up and moving on to do their own exciting things. Our relationships are comfortable. I was trying to think about my parents at this stage of their life and I realised that I have absolutely no idea what it was like. I had flown the nest and it wasn’t until they became grandparents that I had a proper connection with them again.

In my my mum’s notebooks I discovered that one of her ambitions as a child was to be able to fly.

I might just go and stand in the back garden with feathers in my hands until I learn to fly or have something to say.