Painful Rebirth

In some ways, I feel as though I’m reborn. Not precisely in the sense that some Christian sects refer to being “born again”–but not entirely dissimilar.

I find myself really missing the fact that my Mom is reading this blog and can send me an email in reply. I miss the fact that occasionally she would print out posts for her own memory and to show my father.

And yes, that habit, of Capitalizing “Mom” is a habit I think I got from her. I think. She would refer to her Dad, when talking about him. She revered her father, and missed him terribly. He died in 1988. And his death and his memory profoundly affected her. She of course lived a vibrant life. She wanted to live life to its’ fullest, and I wonder if some of that was a being so affected by loss. I don’t know and can’t find out now.

But I find myself wanting to improve. To do more with the precious time I have. What can I do? I know that going on as I have, as a flaky and unreliable person to many people–this can’t go on. I’ve been reliable to many, and certainly I’ve been loyal to my family, but I let so much slide in the past few years. I am taking stock and trying to figure out what to do with myself.

It’s a kind of painful rebirth. Birth is.

And so, everything is new. Again.