> I blew it. I failed at posting every day during National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo).

But what I did do was write nearly every day. And even if some of those posts were “fluffy” it made me examine what I write and why I write. I also had to question myself as to why it takes me so long to write about something that is difficult to talk about.

Turns out I’m not the only person who uses writing, even writing on a blog, as sort of therapy or a way of processing my thoughts and feelings. I found a great post (click here) that talks about it (I can’t remember if there is foul language in that post, be warned) via Snickollet’s site, where she was writing about the same thing, sort of.

I think that one of the reasons I don’t talk about difficult things is, in a way, it makes it more real. The more I have thought about the past year, especially last Fall, the more I realize that it seems surreal. Is it really possible that our baby came home with an NG tube and that when she pulled it out -which was often-, Paul and I had to put it back in? Is it really possible that each of us became better skilled at different parts of it, Paul with the insertion of the tube, and me with applying the Tegederm, Duoderm and holding her down? There are lots of things like that, and while we went through it, in many ways, we just went through the motions because to try to process it back then would have been more than we could have handled. We just kept going through the next thing, until suddenly, there were no more new trials to go through. Think about it.

First we got the diagnosis, then I relocated to Cincinnati, we waited for little one to grow, she was born, she had her first surgery, she was in the RCNIC/NICU for 25 days, she came home, we dealt with feeding issues, she was put into Birth To Three, we became hermits during the months of December and January so she wouldn’t get sick before her tongue surgery, we went to St. Louis for her tongue surgery, we came home and stayed in because we didn’t want to get all the nasty colds and flu/bugs going around, then suddenly, it’s late spring/early summer and we’re in Cincinnati and Lexington for ortho consults and are told she’s fine, let’s wait until next year.

And just like that extremely long run-on sentence, our lives kept going without hardly enough time to catch our breath between each new “thing.”

The other reason why I haven’t really talked much about the important things, the things that helped get Abbie home, is my own self-censoring that I feel I must do. Because, if I were to write honestly about last year, it would be hard to not talk about how we went through some things that, frankly, people we know might not appreciate me talking about. I realize that when you go through something like this, you think people are going to act in one way and if they don’t, it can hurt.

I know that I have let people down in this way, and I feel awful about letting people I love down when they needed support most. I know that life goes on for everyone else and it’s easy to forget calling or writing someone. I know that.

But my heart still smarts because I still thought that people might have done things differently. That’s the thing about life events and traumas. You never forget the people who poured out love and support lavishly on you, who lifted you up when you needed it most. The other side of that coin is, you always remember those who thought would, but didn’t. Honestly, as I’ve been processing what was Summer/Fall 2007, that has been the hardest part.

So, per my M.O., I avoid it until it finally bubbles to the surface. The down side with doing it that way is, often times, my writing is fraught with anger and that’s really not the way I want to write or talk about things. I’m working it. It’s a process. I’m still a work in progress.