I didn’t expect the break to stretch for months. Usually, blogging is a great pleasure for me, especially when I’m not beset by other writing deadlines and family obligations.
Yet, I’ve since realized that it’s never simply about recording the events of my life. Some bloggers are wonderful narrators of the day-to-day, but that’s not my strength. And as I discovered this summer, coming to terms with the loss of a parent requires more than public acknowledgment. It requires internal quiet.
Earlier this year, I did blog a bit about my mother’s death. Blogging also felt necessary to me during the Boston Marathon bombing. Writing about such an event unfolding near my hometown became a form of first-person documentation. It was a way to get a grip on my own anxieties, too, particularly regarding my eleven-year-old son’s reaction.
“I assumed it would be a relief to write in a lighter key”
In June, after his school year ended, we left for London and Asia—and I thought I’d continue blogging while we traveled. I’ll put out a series of quirky anecdotes with iPhone photos, I told myself. I’ll let everyone know I’m all right, that I’ve moved on. I assumed it would be a relief to write in a lighter key after a sad, sad spring.