Living the definition of "Bittersweet"

My first novel, The Grisly Goremet, is getting published on February 2nd. Hole-lee SHIT! I'm excited, giddy, terrified, weepy, jittery — basically, whatever feeling I can have about it, I'm having. It's all fantastic and I'm blown away by how close the actual release date is. Where this will take me, I have no idea, but I'm looking forward to it. Like a little kid on Christmas morning. No joke.

This journey has been hardcore and it's just beginning. I've had my head down so much, cranking to move things forward, working my butt off and through my anxious moments of discomfort and pulling me out of my introversion, that I sometimes look up and realize hours have passed without me knowing it. The goal I've been pursuing for the last... geez, I can't even begin to tell you... is within reach. My fingers itch with how close it is. The support I have gotten from my family, my friends, has been incredible. It keeps me going, moves me forward, and I am grateful beyond what I can say.

As glorious as all this is, something hit me today. I was reflecting on everything that has gone into preparing for The Grisly Goremet to be published, the people who have given of themselves to help me keep going, and as this glow filled me it was immediately followed by a revelation. Here I am, bringing to fruition a goal I have had since my earliest days reading Dr. Seuss and weeping over 'Charlotte' in Charlotte's Web; taking to the next level the dream I've harbored from the moment I was introduced to The Little Prince by Saint-Exupéry, and a wave of melancholy flowed over me. Because the two people who recognized my love of books and stories, the two who encouraged my passion for reading and writing aren't here to see this moment in my life.

I don't have my mom and my dad.

Without you

When I was seven years-old, my dad handed me a copy of The Little Prince and had me memorize and recite it back to him. That same year, my mother gave me two of her favorite books: Little Women and Les Miserables. I read all three and everything else I could get my hands on in our library where no book was off-limits.

My brother, sister, and I were encouraged to open our minds and indulge in literature in every form. Our age didn't matter and many of the books were, yes, over our heads. But if we didn't understand a word we were reading, we didn't ask either of my parents what it meant. The rule was we looked it up for ourselves in the dictionary and we learned. Because of our parents.

I miss them every single day in little ways, like a lingering tune in my ear. But I miss them with a raw depth right now. This joy I feel is tempered today with the knowledge that on February 2nd, when the Ebook drops, they won't be here to see it. I won't be able to call them and tell them, show them off at the launch party, hug and cry at the beauty and share the wonder of it all.

And at this moment, this little piece of time, my heart hurts at that and I need to acknowledge it. I want to. Considering the book deals quite a bit with loss and grief, it feels rather apropos.

"...the universe is unfolding as it should."

Desiderata is a poem by Max Ehrmann. Well, more than a poem — words to live by. Our dad had the poster on his wall and I think of various lines from that frequently. I cannot change the fact my parents are gone. My father almost 30 years now, my mom going on 8. It doesn't get easier. It really doesn't. And I don't want it to because these two people were amazing. No one will ever compare to them and I will never have anyone in my life who matters to me or touches me in the same way ever again.

The great Elisabeth Kübler-Ross said this: “You will not 'get over' the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same, nor would you want to.”

I am not the same and I don't want to be. Losing my parents changed me irrevocably, "as it should." I loved them, I do love them, and I will always love them. Going through this incredible experience without them is part of life and while I certainly do not lament it on a daily basis, I am sad today. I feel their loss with a freshness that makes my whole body ache and yet in the midst of it, the joy of what accomplishing this means teases on the edges and dances inside me as well. It's a conundrum, ya know? A heartbreaking, mind-numbing paradox.

The Cambridge Dictionary defines "bittersweet" as "containing a mixture of sadness and happiness." I am living in the bittersweet because I wish I could kiss them each and share the crazy beautiful of this next step in my journey and I can't. I know how proud they would be of me, how happy they would be for me, and that makes me miss my parents even more.

And that's okay.