Losing Hand-Written Work

On the eve of Saturday, July 20, I watched a movie called “Life Of Pi”. There were a few scenes that saddened me, but none so deeply as the part where the hand written notes flew out of the boy’s hands.

The next morning, I was cleaning my room. I had a few of my old journals in a pile, and set out to put them back where I normally store them – in a big bin with the rest of the past 23 years worth of them.

I remembered that a few weeks earlier I’d had necessity to temporarily store the bin in my 19-year-old daughter’s room in the basement, so I went downstairs and asked her for them. She handed me an empty bin, saying, “You mean this? I’d been using it for shoes…”

She pointed at a pile of boxes in the living room, saying, “The journals might be in there somewhere.”

It was a daunting mess that had accumulated as a result of my daughter having moved from one room to another, wherein she had rearranged various items I’d kept stored in the spare room, but I finally got through all of it after several hours.

None of my journals were found.

I searched the whole house and property, asking everyone if they had any idea where my journals might be. Nobody claimed to know.  One family member said they had seen them in the basement a few weeks ago, and, as they realized they were not in their usual place, they put them back to where I normally keep them.

I’ve been beside myself with heartache over losing these hand-written accounts that spanned half my life, dating back to 1990, including details of all my pregnancies, births, cute events from the childhoods of my kids, stories from living in the wilderness of Alaska, and so much more.

I’ve had a lot of trauma in my life, but the journals represented the everyday and the good. I could look back at them and remember that things weren’t always bad.

I wanted to save those journals for my kids as a legacy, but now they are gone.

It is hard to shake the fear that my daughter is lying to me about not knowing where they are. I suspect that she wanted the bin for shoes while she was rearranging her living quarters, sought out the bin, removed my journals, disposed of them, and didn’t give it another thought until I asked about them.  Even if she is behind this, I’d feel better knowing than not knowing, and I would forgive her if she told me the truth.  She knows this.  We discussed it.  Yet she insists she doesn’t know anything about their whereabouts.

My heart is broken. I feel like a large chunk of my physical body has been removed from me. I feel violated. I feel I am in limbo, not knowing for sure if the books are gone for good.

I cry sometimes as I think about it. I don’t know what hurts more – the loss of my books, or the thought that they might have been thoughtlessly taken by my own adult child who is lying to me.

With writing I do on the computer, I can and do back it up. With hand-writing that fills book after book, it would take years to scan and save it if I worked at it eight hours a day.

I am trying to be strong about this and get over it.  I know it is only a material thing, not a life, that has been lost.  Still, it feels like a part of my own life has been lost, and so it hurts accordingly.

I think back to how deeply I felt the pain of the boy in Life Of Pi losing his hand-written work.  Little did I know it was a foreshadowing of what I was about to discover had happened to me.

Have you ever had your hand-written work disappear? How did you heal up from it? Or did you ever heal up?

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Taking heart in the other post I published today:  A Beautiful Spirit

God Of Wonders

Video

The first time I heard this song was on a warm summer’s evening here in our little cowboy town in BC, in a huge tent, played on acoustic guitar by a guy named Cam who was visiting from another city.  Others too, cracked out their guitars and jammed.  Anyone who knew the words sang along beautifully and with heart.

That was the church fellowship that I used to feel was like family.

Most of those people eventually turned their backs on me when I left the abusive ex, because of their misconceptions and misguided ideas, but God never will.  He knows the whole story.

Flashbacks from this time a few years ago

Today, I keep having flashbacks of January/February 2004, when I was living in the women’s shelter.

I have had several flashbacks of going through the search for a place to rent.

It was January 25, 2004, when I made the final step in my escape from the abusive ex.

There’s more, but that’s all I want to say about that for now.

Here’s the long story, needing chapter divisions and grammatical revisions:  http://holy-sheepdip.blogspot.ca/2011/08/why-i-escaped-and-from-what-did-i.html

Farther Along

Video

Listening to this song, I think of my friend who has also been my family doctor for many years. He is the most compassionate and wise person I have ever met.

He was my friend before he was my doctor.

He is still my friend before my doctor.

When I was in the process of leaving the ex, my friend was there for me when everyone else in the church fellowship turned against me.  Even my friend’s wife, who I had thought was my friend, turned on me.

He prayed for me.  He heard my cries.  He wished me happiness.  He told me he loved me.  Oh, not in an inappropriate way – just the love of a brother in Christ, as it ought to be.

As he stitched up my face a few months ago, my doctor friend asked me if I’d like to study the book of Job with him sometime. We never did get around to it, both of us having such busy lives, but maybe we will someday.

If you ever read this, my dear friend and brother in Christ, this song is for you, because I know you like it.

Farther Along

Tempted and tried, we’re oft made to wonder
Why it should be thus all day long
While there are others living about us
Never molested though in the wrong

When death has come and taken our loved ones
It leaves our home so lonely and drear
Then do we wonder why others prosper
Living so wicked year after year

Farther along we’ll know all about it
Farther along we’ll understand why
Cheer up my brother, live in the sunshine
We’ll understand it all, by and by

Faithful ’til death, said our loving Master
A few more days to labor and wait
Toils of the road will then seem as nothing
As we sweep through the beautiful gates

Remembering a happier me

Video

For several weeks, due to various circumstances, I had been in a deep, dark depression, which started to lift a few days ago.

I am not sure what caused it to lift.

It could have been because of the prayers of friends.

It could have been because of the remedy given to me by my homeopath on January 18 starting to work.

It could be the various supplements from my naturopath, which I started on January 11, to get me on the road to healing from adrenal burnout, kicking in.

It could have been because of answers to unspoken questions in my tormented heart finally being answered from within the confines of silence.

It could be a combination of all of the above, or it could be something I haven’t even guessed.

Up until a few days ago, I didn’t care if I lived.

Now, however, I feel like I want to get better.

I am not sure how far this seed of hope will grow, but for now, I am grateful it is growing.

This video is from May or June of 2011.  I hope I can someday be that happy on a regular basis.