As I was digging through our “room of shame” last night, looking for my empty Christmas tubs, to FINALLY put away the tree, I happened upon one filled with some of my old stuff. Laying on top were 3 notebooks, first a small green journal sized one, the second a teal standard smead notebook and the third one covered with random magazine clippings that had been set into a collage on the cover. The teal and collage notebooks were full of “notes” that my best friend and I had written back and forth to each other throughout my sophmore year in HS. The smaller notebook was my writing journal from my creative writing class. It’s chock full of a HS girl’s best writing, poems, streams of thought, everything. What a time warp that ended up to be.

As I thumbed through the notebook, I could feel what it was like sitting in that class, one of my favorites, actually. We had a young teacher, who was always dressed in a slightly hippy manner, perfect for creative writing. I could remember what each exercise she had us do was as I turned the pages. There was the day we brought in music and just wrote down everything that came to mind as we listened, our What is project, where we wrote poems based on government, music and other general subjects. My favorite though, was our stream of consciousness. Anything and everything that you though you wrote, mine was 3 pages full. I wish I could go back to that class, I truly miss writing…

Toward the back of the notebook, I also found a poem I had written to Brian, long before he and I ever were a couple. It amazed me that even 11 years ago I must have known we were destined for each other. I’ll post the poem up sometime later, but the feelings it brought back were amazing. I didn’t say anything to him about how it made me feel, though I did have him read it. He didn’t really react, but I don’t know what I was expecting him to say or do anyway. It probably means more to me because I know what I felt when I wrote it and to him, they’re just words.

I’m starting to be inspired to write again, I’m hoping I can take the time to do it. One of the assigments in the book had a note from my teacher that said “Jen, I expect great things from you. You have the desire to write, more than others…and I expect you to try and be published someday”. Throughout life we wait to know that someone thinks we’re good at what we’re doing, I had it handed to me 11 years ago and didn’t do anything with it. I was *going* to go to school for writing, I was just *going* to work for a year first and then go to college…somehow life got in the way of that. I can’t go back and fix it and I may have to do some serious searching to find what was alive in me back then.

My husband’s grandmother passed away last Friday. I was out of town when he called me, standing in the middle of a Kroger grocery store in Indiana to be exact. He wasn’t going to call, but his brother (correctly) suggested that he should let me know, even if I was on “vacation” for the weekend. I took in the information, asked him a million times if he wanted me to come home and, after he assured me I should stay, put it away. I just shut it off in my head. I thought about it, but couldn’t react to it. I went through the rest of the weekend, accomplishing what I was there to do, spend time with my friend who I don’t see very often and finish my Bachelorette scrapbook.

On the drive home I thought about Grandma Porter, all of the times I got to spend with her, what a truly classy lady she was, how I always enjoyed her stories and how she always made me feel like I was family, even 6 years ago when I was B’s “new” girlfriend. I still didn’t react though, I just thought.

Her memorial service is tomorrow. Starting at 9am and going until 2:30pm. I’m nervous. I’m afraid the emotion that has been sitting in reserve will spill out and I’ll be a big mess. I’m afraid that the things I haven’t “dealt” with yet will flood over me and some one is going to have to mop me off the floor. I’m also afraid that this won’t happen, I’ll stay composed and the emotions will be held in reserve again.

I don’t know how to cope with this one. I can still hear her voice telling stories in my head, almost as if she’s right there next to me. I can see her face, and her wide smile. She had such a soothing tone, so soft spoken and so full of love. I keep feeling that if I had known the last time was the last, I would have given her a bigger, tighter goodbye hug.

Cross your fingers for me that I make it through tomorrow retaining some form of composure, but letting myself grieve too. I hope my husband can do the same, I don’t think he’s completely dealt with it either.

Jenn: Some days I am reminded how much I truly love you…today is one of those days.

Brian: Oh yeah? Neat….