And here I am, resurrecting my blog after a month long absence. This, after I returned from DFWCon with so much enthusiasm about my writing, my blog presence, and, well, everything else.
So what happened?
Life happened. And sadly, death, too.
Two weeks post conference, I was still riding the high. It all changed with a phone call, as I learned that my uncle, who had been fighting terminal liver cancer for several month, had taken a sharp turn for the worse.
My parents made hasty flight reservations to travel from Texas to Iowa, and I made the four drive from where I live to join them where he lived in order to have one last visit with him and say our goodbyes.
I’ve always believed that people can will themselves to hang on for a certain point before ultimately succumbing, and I believe that to be especially true in this case, as I was able to enjoy a very nice visit with my uncle when I got there. The next day, he was barely conscious, and passed soon after.
I will forever cherish that last visit and the chance to say goodbye, but it comes with regrets, too.
My uncle worked as writer and freelance editor and had close-knit group of friends in his community that were active with him in TM (Transcendental meditation) and martial arts. I learned he has some writings ion these topics that a friend hopes to publish posthumously.
It was a life he never shared much with the family, much as I have not, until recently, been very forthcoming about my own writing, except outside a small circle.
What is it about writers that we tend to keep the secret from those around us? Is it fear of failure? Fear that no one will understand?
Whatever the reason, I greatly regret that I never got the opportunity to talk more with my uncle about writing and learn more about his work, as well as share more about mine, no matter how vastly different they were.
Perhaps in another time, we will have that chance, but for now I am left only with regret and a renewed vow to embrace my writer self.
I’m a writer, and I’m proud of it.