Waiting, waiting, waiting

on a bridge, enjoy the view

Image description: the strut of a bridge covered in colourful heart graffiti overlooking the Ottawa River, apartments nearby, another bridge.

I find myself in a state of suspended animation this month with regard to my professional life, and also somewhat in my personal life. I am in the middle of a bridge, waiting to cross to the other side of the river, but there are so many obstacles in the way.

Here for brain dump and cathartic purposes, are things I am waiting for:

1. Publication of a poem and the honorarium.

2. Publication of a nonfiction piece and the honorarium.

3. Response from editors for my review queries.

4. Finalization of a contract for writing services.

5. Work to begin on #4.

6. More editing contracts.

7. Response from editor about an interview pitch.

8. Grant application results (not due until next month but still weighing on me).

9. Clarity to improve a review an editor suggested needed serious improvement.

10. Focus and calm to work on Naked in Ten Photos, my new novel-in-progress.

11. ________________________________________________

11 is something I am afraid to articulate. It does not belong in a list of professional / work related items. I am not waiting for this, I am dreading it. I share this with you, dear readers.

Someone very dear to me is dying. The grief I feel about his pending death comes in unexpected waves. He is still here, but not for long. I have known him for a long time. I am experiencing a kind of anticipatory grief, knowing that likely in a few short months, he will be gone.

He is someone I love. I am on the periphery these days, and that makes sense. We do talk from time to time, but I respect that his time is limited, really limited, his energies need to be spent on those who are at the centre of his life. I feel the pending loss and sadness hits me at odd times.

I haven’t had a lot of experience with grief. I feel strange and sick and yet also I am grateful for having known my dear friend and that there is still a little time. It’s confusing, bittersweet and universal, this feeling of loss, pending loss.

He knows I am here and that I never stopped loving him. We had our time and it was good for a time. We were young together. He is the only one to know me then, the strange, frightened to be in the world young woman. He and I created a refuge for a time. Some day I will share some of the good memories here.

Image description: young woman on a beach at a lake

https://ko-fi.com/amandaearl