I've been neglecting my online life -- in favor of sleep, it must be said; perhaps also in the interest of listening better. Versus blabbing. And for reasons I haven't quite pinned down, I've needed some time sleeping and not thinking in order to allow a vague group of negative feelings to sort themselves out and subside. Anomie, C. called it; we were discussing the recent chaos in our lives (more chaos than usual that is) and our similar responses. Yes, perhaps a less clinical version of anomie. In my case it's like treading water in a dream -- dark, murky water, with a disturbing sense of things moving under the surface that can't be indentified. Negative feelings, impending anxieties; or just my own arms and legs? Hard to tell. Better to sleep than to dream, to paraphrase the famed prince.
Not tonight though -- after a busy evening of ups and downs, I'm up, though tomorrow too will be long and I shouldn't push it.
I was at a funeral yesterday morning, for the mother of a good friend, and somehow a good funeral is so uplifting. Sounds crazy to some, and selfish maybe; but D.'s mother lived a long, interesting and full existence, and she died quickly when the time came, and was even given some choices in the end about whether medical procedures to save her life were worth the increased risk of dying in a way she would not have wanted. She birthed five sons, all of whom were on hand, and the remembrances they offered were articulate and touching, making clear how strong and loving and alive she was. The church itself was quite lovely, an older Lutheran church in south Minneapolis, and the day was warm and sunny -- the only such day we've had all week. Made spring seem that much more real, in a season that has come to us only reluctantly.
One of her sons read from her journal, a recent entry that commented on her sense that time was short, and spoke of her concern for her family while acknowledging a sense that she had lived well and long. I was stilled myself by those words, and thought of how those few lines came to mean so much to her survivors. I don't journal much on paper anymore. How will I preserve what I've blogged? I've never come across a good means of downloading stored content. Certainly not all of what I've written is worth posterity (mostly not) but it's mine and I have a child. I do hope and pray that I live so long and well as Lannie did, and that I'm remembered by so many as those who felt adopted by her over the years. That I could do the same for those I'm touched by, more consistently. She left behind a treasure in memories.