The last few entries from months ago were about my uncle. He’s now at a rehabilitation center and recovering, albeit slowly. He has been surrounded by friends and family through all of it. It is truly heartening to see.
In December I started a part-time job—the kind of part-time job that does not come home with me and turn into a full-time job. For now it is great. My side projects eat up a lot of my free time so I couldn’t handle a job that cut into that time anyway. I also get to talk to and deal with people (a bit of customer service) which I didn’t realize I had missed so much. Certain retail jobs can sure kill that enjoyment, I guess. Luckily this is one that mostly doesn’t.
My daughter is growing and walking and fabulous. When we are out and about, people comment on how well-behaved she is and how adorable and sweet. I love that other people get to experience her. She is all of those things and more. A joy in my life that I’m grateful for.
A professor and poet in my MFA program lost his twenty-year-old daughter six or so years ago when she drown while studying abroad. She was also a poet, and her father compiled poems from her 20+ notebooks of poetry that she had been writing since the age of, I think, three. Those poems have been published in a collection by the university press I’m interning at, and there was a reading last week of her work. And though it was an emotional night, it was more of a celebration than anything else of her talent and spirit. I, however, being the often super-sensitive person that I am, cried a little. Couldn’t help it. A poem was read; there was a postcard, a desire to be near her father, the awareness of distance and beatiful, beautiful language. Even now thinking about it, tears are welling up in my eyes. I usually just accept that I’m an emotional goob, and don’t worry about what people think. But a few minutes later, after dabbing my eyes with a tissue, I glanced back at the father, the poet, my professor and he was looking in my direction. I turned back to the front. And for a split second felt a little foolish being caught out crying, even though there was no judgment in his eyes whatsoever. A thought flickered… I didn’t even know her, what right do I have to cry? It was just a flutter of a thought though and I decided that it was more of a gift that her poetry and insight could touch me so much.
Later I would think about my daughter and the gaping hole that would be born should I ever lose her. And even now there’s a small voice in my head saying don’t type this, don’t share this. If you do you may jinx it; it may come true. But rationally all I really think this shows is how much I love her and how much she brings into my life. And that is worth saying.