My novel has officially crashed and burned. But, I get the value of NaNoWriMo. The pressure of daily writing really makes you focus in a way I wouldn't otherwise. I intend to pick it up again (though, was supposed to be doing that today and NOT going to happen, so we'll see). Having not written anything longer than a blog post since high school, it is clear that plot and character development leave me a lot of room to grow. A good thing to learn.
Grief-wise, this has been an unusually quiet month for me. Especially considering the time of year, the anniversary of both Henry's diagnosis and then the next year his relapse. I feel much more settled, much more able to feel happy. My laughter is real again, instead of forced. For a long time I pretended to laugh, more for myself than for others.
I am struggling with my age, more than I ever expected to. I guess many people struggle with aging as 40 starts to breath down their neck; maybe my experience is no different. I think that Henry's death makes me feel that I am leaving for good that part of my life where I was the parent of a young child, and I wasn't ready to give that away. I look at the faces of parents of young children around me, and they all look so much younger than I.
Maybe I would have felt this way if he had never had cancer, but knowing myself, I don't think so. I feel that I am able to embrace the girls growth and development, I don't find myself yearning for when they were younger.
Maybe the lines around my eyes, the sag of my abdomen, the ache in my back would have mocked me anyway, even with three healthy children.
I feel that a door is closing.