My father died of liver cancer three years ago this month. May 31st, actually. It’s the kind of anniversary one remembers quietly, and I wouldn’t mention it here except that Lois, my stepmother, called this morning with news of Dad’s remaining siblings. Uncle Lindley, one of Dad’s older brothers, has lung cancer. Uncle Fay, the oldest brother, has lung and spinal cancer (and his wife Frances has mascular degeneration). Aunt Audentia, the next youngest after my father, and now the youngest sibling (Uncle Fran, the youngest of all, died several years ago, also of cancer), has pneumonia and a staph infection.
Donna had asked me to write an award submission for a friend, and it was my goal to finish that today. Instead, I sat unproductively at the computer, surfing blogs and news sites. It was all I could do to write short get-well notes to my uncles and aunt, but at least those are done now and ready for tomorrow’s mail.
I’m normally not one to suffer from writer’s block, but I realize now that’s what I’m experiencing. I didn’t think mortality bothered me all that much, but of course it does. After my father died, I thought about death almost every day for a year. And now — though of course I hope for miraculous cures and remissions for my uncles and aunt — I’m thinking about it again.
Sorry, I didn’t mean for this to be such a bummer of a post.
I’m going to hug my dog a lot tonight.
I think another name for what you’re calling writer’s block is, in this instance, just ‘stress”, maybe even PTS of a type.
Since my mom died last October I have been in a vague state of moping, I think – looking and sounding fine on the surface but just not seeming to get many productive things done.
Yesterday I actually thought I was “fine” – I even tried out the concept in my head, “I haven’t got my mom anymore, for Mother’s Day” and nothing happened – but then as soon as I tweeted my thoughts (about it being the first Mother’s Day I wasn’t sending a card (late as per usual) and planning to telephone on our Monday, the US Sunday) and ended with “I miss my Mom”, I burst into tears.
Sometimes stress doesn’t even turn up until 6 months, or a year, later. Or when an anniversary triggers it.
Anyway – hug your dog. (and your wife!). 😉
Ann, thanks for the insight, and thanks for being such a good friend. I’m still giving Shatzi hugs (Donna too), and I’ll add a few hugs in your name.