when the words breathe…

Today I was catching up on some of my thank you letters.

These are not the usual ‘thank you for your gift’ or ‘thanks for coming’ notes. Having promised myself I would get back on the wagon with Kristie’s challenge, I’m writing to people to say thanks for who they are, what they’ve meant to me, the blessings they’ve been.

I have had a lifelong affair with words but even more so with letters. There is something beautiful about catching words and holding them, butterflies that still live, still fly on the pin. They are the fleeting moments pressed into the page, made tangible so they can be touched and held after memory has passed away into dimness.

I like to think of myself as someone who puts out a lot of love, so my first thought was that as I’d already made my speeches and let my feelings fly – that this challenge might not have much to offer me. In fact, even just a few letters into this challenge, it feels like I am learning, finding and digging up unexpected treasures with each stroke of my pen.

I have lived like a rolling stone with a fondness for moss. When life is always moving, you either have to gather nothing and no one, or accept that your life will have as many ins and outs as a vigorous hokey cokey. I’ve done it like a silly dance, loved, laughed, made friends, let roots grow, then let them go.

I’ve said an awful lot of goodbyes so half my world always seem to be a world away, sinking as I rise. There is so much left unfinished, so many ’till we meet agains’. I never like to say the whole goodbye so I tend to leave like I’m popping to the shops –  a blown kiss and a glance rather than a song and a dance. This way I escape a few of the tears but leave without feeling I’ve quite said my part.

Writing these letters has pulled together scattered pieces, torn up bits of this and that, the quarrel, the sunny day, the longing look. It frames them. In context they have a sense I didn’t see before, the lovely all. Words have given them breath,  kind of made them flesh I can know, hold close and let go. Writing has been a release.

They have made me realise how much of what is unspoken is not always understood. They’ve shown me that I speak passionately of my friends, of how they inspire me and lift me – but often not to them.

From the responses I’ve had, I know the letters run with love. They are gifts worth the giving.

There is much in them that I’ve said before, but nothing’s lost in the repetition. I often laugh at how many times I said goodbye to my dad, how many tear-splashed words of love were sent from airports as I wondered if cancer would wait for my return. Many things I said again and again and again but I have never regretted one single soggy word. He was worth a hundred damp ‘I love you’s. I guess we all are.

Like incantations or spells, words can bring the good stuff more fully into life. They make magicians of us – the blessings look a bit better, a bit more substantial and there might just be a rabbit waiting in the hat…

Writing focuses the eye and, by definition, that narrows my view to gratitude, thankfulness. There are still the bugbears and burrs but they are fuzzier, edged into context where they are a little easier to forgive, just a bit softer to the touch and more possible to tolerate.

When we write we create, choose to omit or include, to prioritise and this letter writing process has reminded me that I have control over my stories. I am a co-author at worst, at weakest. When tale comes out all wrong there is often time for a re-draft, a better built chapter to follow, a change of heart. Some stories never quite work out but I can put them in a drawer, tucked out of view, and put them down to experience!

I am working my way down the list of names. At first I struggled for numbers but as I write I see more to value, more thanks to be said. The world seems just a little brighter with a grateful heart.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in thanks and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to when the words breathe…

  1. April Denton says:

    Amazing post, simply amazing! I love reading your blog it’s so “real”! 🙂

  2. anamcara3 says:

    Thank you for logging on to my blog, The loss of a child a father’s grief
    http://anamcara3.wordpress.com/2011/07/15/the-day-the-light-went-out/
    Thank you for your empathy. I have read some of your blogs and you are gifted with
    words and I intend to gain some strength from them in the days that follow

    • I was so sorry to read of the loss of your little girl and I am glad you have found reading my blog at least a little helpful – for certainly writing has been an important part in starting to at least be able to to name what I’m feeling and tracks it twists and turns. Again a different situation from your own but I wondered whether you might like this blog http://lifeafterbenjamin.com/ which I’ve also been following. I am thinking of you and your partner.

  3. Gorgeous. I wish my heart was less tender and cluttered tonight so I could fully appreciate it, so I will read it again another day with a lighter spirit and delight in it all the more.

  4. Felipe Neumann says:

    Words can either heal or hurt and when written, especially, they work as imprints of our past, highlighting what was relevant back then or even what was really silly but we thought should be remembered one day.
    I’m glad to hear your optimism, dear blogfriend!

  5. Wyrd Smythe says:

    “I have lived like a rolling stone with a fondness for moss.”
    I LOVE that line!!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s