I know that the majority of this blog’s followers found me through my humor. I know reading something witty I wrote for Huffington Post or Hahas for Hoohas or Funny Times, etc. prompted you to give my page a second gander. I know my PSA’s about redneckery in the Wal-MartS or stifling the urge to ram into the back of a rude woman’s Town and Country in the school pickup line led you here.
I know you didn’t sign up for melancholy posts about loss when you clicked that “like” or “subscribe” button. I am all too aware that I’ve found success in the blogging and freelance writing world solely because I have the “gift” of making people dribble themselves from laughter ( a “gift” inherited by both of my hilarious parents, by the way).
And I have to admit that every time I sit down to write another one of these melancholy posts, I feel somewhat guilty. I feel like I’m doing something wrong and letting down my followers. I feel like there’s some woman with snazzy ombre hair scrolling through her phone in her OBGYN’s waiting room and she rolls her eyes at my latest installment and thinks, “Oh, geez. Another post about her dead mother.”
I do understand that. I do understand that a fan base likes consistency. I understand that Garth Brooks disappointed fans when he became that absurd Chris Gaines character with the patch of pubes on his chin. I understand when a person signs up for a humor page in his/her newsfeed, well by God, he/she expects to see some humor.
But, in all honesty, I cannot be funny until I’ve processed this loss. Writing has always been my saving grace- it’s always been cathartic- and writing about the death of my mother helps me to properly grieve and find closure. It helps me to remember her fondly and achieve unexplainable peace that she’s face to face with the Holiest of Holies. Writing about her death will somehow help me rediscover my funny–I just know it. Writing about my life now, without her in it, is just something that I must do during this season of my life.
As I continue to write my way through this journey, though my posts aren’t light-hearted or poking fun at grown folks with less teeth than a newborn, the plethora (I said plethora…ha) of private messages and comments that I’ve received in the five weeks that my mother has been absent from this earth have blown me away. So many people have thanked me for voicing what I’m going through. I’ve been told that I’ve helped people through their own grieving. I’ve been thanked for publicly posting my emotions. Strangers have given me golden advice on healing that will resonate with me for a lifetime. I’ve read PMs and comments that would cause my mother to nod in agreement. I’ve cried at typed words from people whom I will never meet this side of Heaven. And when I read this plethora (I said plethora again…ha) of positive feedback, I have to think that what I’m writing now, though it’s so foreign from what I usually write, is making a small difference in the lives of others who are hurting.
So, ombre girl, I’m going to have to work through all of these frilly dilly emotions before I can write a satirical article about those who dare wear Juicy sweatpants to morning services down at the First Episcopal. I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing- writing what I’m writing- because it’s not only helping me, I think it’s helping others. I don’t know how long I’ll produce this kind of writing because I know grief is a place to visit instead of a place to stay, but I hope you’ll bear with me as I trudge through this storm- as I trudge toward the light.
I do know that I’ll reach that place of lighthearted humor again. I reached it after my daddy died. I reached after the losses of others that I held dear. It took some time, but I found my happy, humorous place. It just may take longer this time since I don’t have my mama here to nudge me along with her contagious joy and jokes.
So, my point is that I just ask that everyone please continue to be patient with me. The loving comments, prayers and encouragement that have come to me from one ocean to the other has been such a beautiful blessing. Although I will never get to meet all 9,000 of you face to face, I do believe the good Lord allowed each of you into my life and my inbox for a reason.
Thanks for sticking around.
And thanks to Al Gore for inventing the internet, otherwise I may never have been blessed by you.