It's been awhile, I know. Much has happened since my last post. I'm not sure that I am there yet, but I am trying to find my way back.
2016 was not a good year.
It is said that writing is cathartic. This I know. The reason I started this blog was to create an outlet for my emotions after losing my beloved school librarian job back in 2011. I thought that was a bad year. I was mistaken. It was merely a fork in the road.
It is with a heavy heart that I return to writing. Something I once found joy in. It is time.
If you are a follower of this blog, you know that I took that fork in the road six years ago and it led me, by way of a jewelry store, a bakery and a trip back to university, to a job that started my career as a librarian.
I began my adult working life in 1993 as a fresh out of university 23 year old. I had every intention of becoming a teacher back then, but as fate would have it, I began working in a library and found my true calling. I stayed on through marriage and the birth of our three children. It was a job that I planned on retiring from. However, in 2004 I was offered a job that suited my family to a tee, so after much thought, I left my wonderful job in the hopes that I was moving on to something better.
It was. For seven whole years. Until someone higher up decided that school libraries were a thing of the past. As archaic as the dinosaur. Myself, and many other wonderfully talented librarians were let go. There was no warning. We didn't see it coming. I was 42 at the time, and for the first time in my adult life I was unemployed. It was not a good time for me.
I began this blog as a way of not only coping, but finding something to do with all of the new found time I had on my hands. It worked then, and for that reason, I am returning to it with hopes that it will do the same once again.
I've walked circles around this computer for days. I knew that I wanted to write, but feared what would happen once I started. Do I want to express all of my feelings to "the world?" No. Do I need to let them out? Yes. I finally sat down today and committed myself to writing at least a paragraph. I am writing with the notion that no one is going to read this. I have neglected my blog for so long now that I'm sure I have not a single follower. And that is okay. This post isn't for anyone but me. The thought that my words will go unread allows me to write with clarity and freedom.
The year 2016 started out fine. Great in fact. It was the year of the dream vacation that my husband and I had been planning since February of 2015. A Mediterranean cruise that would last two full weeks. We had so much to look forward to. I was once again working at a public library (ironically, the same one that I left in 2004). I loved my job, my kids were healthy and prospering teenagers, and my husband of 23 years and I had a trip of a lifetime coming up in the fall.
On June 25th, things began to unravel.
Our library management and board could not come to an agreement with our Union during contract negotiations and we were forced to go on strike. It was such a foreign concept to me. I had never done such a thing, nor was I prepared for what it would entail. I will not go into detail about the strike, other than to say that it was one of the most brutally difficult things I've had to endure in my lifetime to date. Picketing is not fun. Walking for 4 hours each day in all kinds of inclement weather; heat, cold, rain and wind, was not something I looked forward to. Being sworn at, almost run down by people that had places to go that were more important than what we were standing up for, also not fun. It lasted for 7 1/2 months. 229 days. Long enough for me to lose some of my faith in the decency of people. Sadly, that is not the worst thing that happened in 2016.
In March, a healthy, robust and wise man that we loved was diagnosed with an acute form of cancer at the age of 54. A relative on my husband's side, Rick was the one of the wittiest and most genuinely kind person I had ever met. His battle with this cruel disease led him down a path that would cause much heartache within our family.
In yet another cruel twist of fate, my brother, my only surviving sibling (the youngest of 4, I have already lost a brother and a sister), went into the hospital with a headache in August and never returned home. Scot was also 54. The same age as our cousin Rick.
The two men died a day apart in September of 2016.
This was the month that my husband and I were to travel on our much anticipated dream cruise. We sailed for 4 days before having to return home. It was a difficult journey to say the least. I cannot, nor will I try, to put it into words. I also cannot express in words the great hole the loss of these wonderful men have left in the hearts of many. They are missed each and every single day.
It is now April. Almost 7 months to the day that my brother died, followed by our cousin. In those months I have struggled to find my way. I have extreme anxiety and what is called "survivor's guilt." As well, I have been diagnosed with depression. It's ironic this diagnosis, since I am not depressed in the sense that I am unhappy.
I have a great life. I am forever grateful to my wonderful and loving husband who has always remained by my side. My supporter, my advocate and my voice of reason. I have three wonderful, healthy and understanding children. They have made me smile even when I didn't want to. My circle of friends are always there for me to lean on and I am once again able to do a job that I love. I am truly not unhappy. I am just struggling to make sense of it all. The questions surmount the answers.
In writing this blog, I hope to dispel some of my dejection. I've started seeing a therapist, something I do not admit lightly, and she suggested that I start a journal as an outlet for my emotions. My goal is to return to blogging and perhaps even baking (something I have lost interest in amid the chaos). As I have previously mentioned, this worked for me once before, I am hopeful that it will again.
In the words of Ernest Hemingway, I hope to "write hard and clear about what hurts" and perhaps somewhere along the way I will rediscover myself and my love of baking. Perhaps my next post might even contain a recipe. Until then...