I am also worried about the weight of delving into my worst memories once a month. Not just delving but locking myself in the same room to sit on the floor and write about what I see.
It makes my eye lids heavy just thinking about it.
A memory tonight made me burst into tears unexpectedly while rocking my baby to sleep. It completely caught me off guard. The tears that is. I was intentionally remembering and forming the words in my mind for later writing.
When the sobs broke forth my two year old reached up to touch my face and said, “don’t worry mommy”.
I had forgotten that he was even there until his little warm hand touched my cheek. I quickly brought myself back into the moment and wiped my tears away.
“Mommy’s okay. You don’t worry.”
We cuddled. I told him I loved him a dozen times and then I laid him in his toddler bed. His soft curls, sweet breath and warm blanket a lumpy mass on the mattress. He will remain in his bed until morning. No one will come for him. He may toddle across the hall carrying his warm blanket looking for the crook of his mother’s arm. He will find no one hunting in the darkness. The crook of my arm will mean safety and rest.
I envy him. I am glad to provide such a childhood for him but those are the thoughts that brought me to tears. The dangers of sleep.
There is no prettying up of my awful story. A question is forming in my head about my strength. About my sanity. I think that this may be one of the best and worst idea I have ever had.