Merry Christmas

I finished my “zero draft” of Sepia this morning.  Almost two months of writing netted 190 pages of story, plus tons of notes that need to be sorted and organized and turned into a cohesive world and separated out into important threads to re-weave into the first revision of my book.  I’ve got notes and plot points for the two sequels that should follow this book, as well, and I can’t wait to get started on those books! 

Writing the end of Sepia during the Christmas season was especially significant for me.  My brother, always on my mind throughout the year, loved Christmas.  I cannot remember a Christmas when I was not planning how to make the day special for him.  From cooking the foods he loved (ham with pineapple and green bean casserole with French-fried onions) to finding him stocking stuffers and presents he would really enjoy, Christmas was a chance to hear him squeal with delight, to see him pat his stomach and declare that everything was delicious, and that he was full.

As I wrote the last chapters, I realized that, like Cara in my story, my father and I have been left with the emptiness of wondering who we really are now that my brother and sister are both gone.  A lifetime of caring for someone creates an identity that is hard to reconcile with their absence.

But, just as we are not the same people we were ten minutes ago, ten months ago, or ten years ago, we are not defined by our roles as caregivers.  It is an honor, a responsibility, a privilege, but it is not a definition. 

I am shaped by my lifetime with my brother.  I am saddened by his loss.  I am redefining my life as I move forward without him.  I mourn him, and hope to honor him as I move on.  But move on I will.  Because to stagnate is to throw away this precious gift that I still possess, this gift of life.  Because moving on is not a choice, but a necessity.  And for me, it is the only way to go.