It has been said that writing is cathartic. This, I know. The reason I started my original blog, The Bookish Baker, was to create an outlet for my emotions after losing my beloved school librarian job in 2011. I thought that was a bad year. I was mistaken. It was merely a fork in the road.
It is with a heavy heart that I return to writing. Something I once found joy in doing. It is time.
If you are a follower of The Bookish Baker blog, you know that I took that fork in the road several years ago and it let me, by way of a jewelry store, a bakery and a trip back to university, to a job that started my career as a librarian.
I began my adult working life in 1993 as a fresh faced, optimistic university graduate. I had every intention of becoming a teacher back then, but as fate would have it, I began working in a local public library and found my true calling. I forged my path through marriage and the birth of our three children. It was a job that I loved dearly and one that I had no intentions of leaving. In 2004, however, I was offered a job that suited my family to a tee. After much thought and contemplation, I decided to leave my wonderful job in the hopes that I was moving on to something better.
It was. For seven short years. Until someone higher up decided that school libraries were a thing of the past. As archaic as the dinosaur. Myself, and many other wonderfully talented individuals were let go. There was no warning. We didn't see it coming. I was 42 and, for the first time in my adult life, I was unemployed. It was not a good time for me.
I began blogging as a way of not only coping, but finding something to do with all of the new found time I had on my hands. It worked then and, for that reason, I am returning to it in the hopes that it will do the same for me once again.
I have been circling this computer for days. I knew that I wanted to write, but feared what would happen once I started. I had many fears and questions:
- Do I want to express all of my feelings to "the world?"
No.
- Do I need to let these feelings out?
Yes.
- Would it be wonderful to connect with others on their grief journey?
Absolutely.
I finally sat down and committed myself to writing at least one paragraph. As the saying goes, the hardest part is getting started. Before I knew it, I was galloping forward and this blog took on a life of its own. I am writing with the notion that no one is going to read this. This writing endeavor isn't for anyone but me. The thought that my words may go unread allows me to write with clarity and freedom.
I didn't know where to begin, so I started in the middle. Writing about what is happening in the present felt too fresh and starting at the beginning seemed to daunting of a task.
Meet me in the middle. The year of 2016.
This year started out fine. Great in fact. It was the year of the dream vacation that my husband and I had been planning for over a year; a Mediterranean cruise that would last two full weeks. We had so much to look forward to. I was once again working at a public library (ironically, the same one that I left in 2004) and I loved my job. Our kids were healthy and prospering teenagers and my husband and I had a trip of a lifetime coming up in the fall.
On June 25th, things began to unravel.
Our library management and board could not come to an agreement with our Union during contract negotiations and we locked out/on strike. It was such a foreign concept to me. I had never done such a thing, nor was I prepared for what it would entail. I will not go into detail about the strike, other than to say that it was one of the most brutally difficult things I've had to endure, but it wasn't the worst. It lasted for seven and a half months. Two hundred and twenty nine days to be exact. Long enough for me to lose some of my faith in the decency of people. But, as I mentioned earlier, it wasn't the worst thing that happened in 2016.
In March, a healthy, robust and wise man that we loved was diagnosed with an acute form of cancer at the age of 54. A relative on my husband's side, Rick was a witty and kind person. His battle with this cruel disease led him down a path that would cause much heartache within our family.
At the risk of sounding like a late night infomercial, but wait! That's not all! There's more...
In yet another cruel twist of fate, my brother, my only surviving sibling (I am the youngest of four and I have already lost a brother and a sister. Remember, I'm starting in the middle, bear with me) went into the hospital with a headache in August and never came out. Scot was also 54, the same age as our cousin Rick.
The two men died a day apart in September of 2016.
This was in the same month that my husband and I were to travel on our much anticipated dream cruise. We sailed for 4 days before having to return home. It was a difficult journey to say the least. I cannot, nor will I try, to put it into words. I also cannot express in words the great hole the loss of these wonderful men have left in the hearts of many. They are missed each and every single day.
It is now April of 2024 and, while I suffer from survivor's guilt, I have a great life. I am forever grateful to my wonderful and loving husband who has always remained steadfast and by my side. My supporter, my advocate and my voice of reason. We have three wonderful, healthy and understanding children. Together they have made me smile even when I didn't want to and thought that I couldn't. In spite of this, I still find myself struggling to make sense of it all. The questions surmount the answers.
In writing this blog, I hope to dispel some of my dejection. My goal is to return to blogging on a somewhat regular basis. As I have previously mentioned, this worked for me once before, I am hopeful that it will again. In the words of Ernest Hemingway, I hope to write hard and clear about what hurts and perhaps somewhere along the way I will rediscover myself and find an outlet for my grief. Until then, hold on and lean in.
