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Kansas City MO 64131





Cindy Maddera

When Chris died, I started writing a whole lot more. Not necessarily in this space, but there's bits and pieces of things accumulating in my google drive. My drive is full of thoughts on this whole widow thing, things about my dad, stories. There's even a little bit of fiction in there. I entertained thoughts of putting it all together in some sort of book. I participated in NaNoWriMo with the idea that this would be a great way to get all of those thoughts compiled into one spot. I was on a roll. I did really well. I put together over 35,000 words all into one space until I finally reached a point where I felt like I didn't have any more words to put down. I was also very much alone with my own brain during that time. I could either type it all out or talk to myself or the dog. Who am I kidding? I talked to myself and the dog while typing typing typing away.

These days I am less alone with my own thoughts. I have less time for my brain to ramble. I do a lot less typing typing typing than I used to. As a result, all that stuff in my drive folder is gathering dust. There's two sides to this coin. On one side I'm more engaged with things outside my own head. On the other side, I have unfinished projects. I wrote one hundred words for NaNoWriMo last year. I have yet to find a balance of sitting down to write and spending an hour or so inside my own head. When I do have time to myself, I find that I am easily distracted from working on any of those unfinished projects. I'll open my laptop and get settled. I'll have the drive folder of interest open to work on and then Oh...I need to check my mail. I wonder what's happening on facebook. When's the last time I checked out a recipe at Thug Kitchen? I should see if any one I follow has posted anything new on their blog. Amy may have posted some new pictures of Charlotte in flickr. I need to see those baby pictures. My fingers have become too heavy to lift and it's just easier to click a mouse around.

The other night I woke up in a fit of coughing. As I laid there trying not to cough and trying to go back to sleep, I suddenly had a clear direction for one of those unfinished projects. I wanted to write again. I'm sure it has something to do with wanting to write something other than a memorial entry. I'm tired of writing those. I'm starting to lose track of time. How many years has it been now? Three years? Twenty years? One day ago? Time blurs all that up. He knows that he is missed. There's more to it than the want to write more and put some finishing touches on things. I want to make time to do that. I want to carve out a few minutes a day to trap myself inside this head. Michael is currently down in the basement building himself a work bench. He's carving out his time and space. I need to take his lead and do the same for myself. I'm doing that now with a dog curled up at my feet. It's not a bad gig.