How many kids do you have?
3 boys.
Are they all grown? Do they live near?
I feel a numb spot inside me as I aspire to get all the words out quickly and neutrally.
My youngest is 16, he lives (elsewhere). My middle would be 20, but he passed away 2 years ago. My oldest is 23, he lives next door to me but I rarely see him because...
But they don't hear about my oldest son because they're busy saying, "Oh, I'm so sorry!" or, "Oh no, oh, I feel for you", or, "Oh, wow, that's so rough."
And I am grateful for the sympathy. Sometimes they ask what happened and I fill up with so many more words than the space will hold. I want to spill out the whole tragic, enraging, bittersweet story. Every heartache and outrage.
But this monologue doesn't fit into a regular conversation. A sentence or two and there are responses, sharing similar experiences or further sympathies. Perhaps a question asked or point raised about this or that detail. Then the conversation naturally morphs and moves on.
Feeling this occasional intense desire for monologue I wonder if that is sometimes why "regular" people (i.e. non-celebrities) write memoirs.
I've read memoirs that were obviously written to share an amazing or unusual story. Others were written to share knowledge, insight, or beauty.
Some memoirs I wonder, why was this written? Who cares? There's nothing profound or exciting or insightful or particularly hopeful here. Maybe it's someone's monologue.
#parenting #grief #mentalhealth #suicide #writing
Raven / Raven M
npub1kf…4sd28
2024-08-09 15:51:03
Author Public Key
npub1kfkh3cphz2hwkq44d79qx4f4xcma3amn7yypelq7mrl7rr4ykyfsq4sd28Published at
2024-08-09 15:51:03Event JSON
{
"id": "7cf489324f8f01f853f4a535c1107f4056f1c13b189ddaa286d2d53e854352e3",
"pubkey": "b26d78e03712aeeb02b56f8a0355353637d8f773f1081cfc1ed8ffe18ea4b113",
"created_at": 1723218663,
"kind": 1,
"tags": [
[
"t",
"parenting"
],
[
"t",
"grief"
],
[
"t",
"mentalhealth"
],
[
"t",
"suicide"
],
[
"t",
"writing"
]
],
"content": "How many kids do you have?\n\n3 boys.\n\nAre they all grown? Do they live near?\n\nI feel a numb spot inside me as I aspire to get all the words out quickly and neutrally.\n\nMy youngest is 16, he lives (elsewhere). My middle would be 20, but he passed away 2 years ago. My oldest is 23, he lives next door to me but I rarely see him because...\n\nBut they don't hear about my oldest son because they're busy saying, \"Oh, I'm so sorry!\" or, \"Oh no, oh, I feel for you\", or, \"Oh, wow, that's so rough.\"\n\nAnd I am grateful for the sympathy. Sometimes they ask what happened and I fill up with so many more words than the space will hold. I want to spill out the whole tragic, enraging, bittersweet story. Every heartache and outrage.\n\n But this monologue doesn't fit into a regular conversation. A sentence or two and there are responses, sharing similar experiences or further sympathies. Perhaps a question asked or point raised about this or that detail. Then the conversation naturally morphs and moves on.\n\nFeeling this occasional intense desire for monologue I wonder if that is sometimes why \"regular\" people (i.e. non-celebrities) write memoirs. \n\nI've read memoirs that were obviously written to share an amazing or unusual story. Others were written to share knowledge, insight, or beauty. \n\nSome memoirs I wonder, why was this written? Who cares? There's nothing profound or exciting or insightful or particularly hopeful here. Maybe it's someone's monologue. \n\n#parenting #grief #mentalhealth #suicide #writing \n",
"sig": "37cc4767771c5fd5033f4bc2a6a47681450516c71f49c61159a46d5e65968dc37f75c434b9cb3ce19e125b24224a976041d645d1fb90b1b5d80a0471eddeab31"
}