Saturday, January 1, 2022
I live in a very beautiful part of this world, where there are still four, specific seasons. These past few days have been especially lovely as a soft Christmas snow falls intermittently, and the birds are unrestrained in their singing. I awake each morning, feeling grateful that I could be safe in my bed as life moved around me.
I am not sure how these letters and conversations are going to develop. Will I speak of mundane details of a typical day in the life of Melissa? Maybe. Will I continue to share my journey of grief with you as my feelings and thoughts and behaviors are beginning to change while time heals? Possibly. Will you become a ghostly stand in for the ideal companion that no longer exists since my husband has died? Could be.
I am holding no real expectation in my heart and mind for the new blog. I have thought of searching out a more current, reliable biography on you, to read as I write these letters; one whose perspective is less bias and less sensational. In that way we might reflect upon the stories of your life as well, not just mine.
I will begin this first of 365 letters to you by sharing my word for 2022. It is meet. Last year’s was joy, just so you have some frame of reference. How will meet appear in my rugs (I am a primitive rug hooker), my life, my art, and my writing, do you think? I never believe any meeting is accidental or coincidental. And I also think that much of what we experience in life, that is people’s paths we cross, challenges we face, things we listen to and see, are actually stepping stones to bigger meetings from the future.
I am thinking you would know a lot about that, even if you might be hesitant to speak of it.
Wow. There it is. A place to start.
Talk with you tomorrow.