“You really should write it down.”
I’ve been told this over coffee, or after a lunch, or a car ride. On the beach, In a church, on a train.
They’d asked a question and had seemed to be genuinely asking and so had gotten a fragment of the story.
It’s long and convoluted. With lots of pain, and hospitals and more of sleepless nights, emesis basins and canulas. There’s bits about foreign lands and the kindness of strangers, And parts about hoity toity alabaman plantation owners, and gritty first generation australians, and even a little bout bootlegging. it’s also got angels and the wonderful beauty of friendship. Oh, and there’s a bit about god. That bit might make people happy or turn others away. But it’s there. It’s not going away.
When I finally had a space here in Australia where I could begin to unpack my life, I rediscovered my journals. Close to 8 or 9 years worth. Some are not worth talking about, but others provide some of the raw materials of beginning to tell this story – the observations of time when I didn’t ever think anyone would ever get to read even excerpts.
I wasn’t sure about it all. But in these journals I find a way in, a window into my own experience. It will Not be easy, i suspect. I am not looking forward to having to process all the emotions of those years, or to re experience to greatest of the pain again.but will I? We shall see.
I don’t know what it will look like. I don’t know if I’ll ever let anyone read it. But I hope it will be a first attempt. At my story.