I started this blog as a self-protecting way to get a bit more sleep. When Robb was first injured, and in the hospital, I couldn't face the early-morning phone calls asking how he was. I couldn't bear telling the same confusing and terrifying story over and over again. I was stretched terribly thin, and needed to conserve my energies.
Slowly, as Robb got back on his feet -- both literally and metaphorically -- the blog's purpose shifted, and it started documenting his little triumphs, as well as our set-backs. But since the recovery from a spinal cord injury progresses at the glacial pace, I eventually ran out of new things to say. I started writing about our outings, and my return to work.
But there have been a lot of things that don't get said, except by omission. Some friends (Gina Sue, I'm talking about you) are sensitive enough to read the what we choose to speak about, as well as our silences.
No, I haven't written much about the intense fragility of the human body. Or about our daily fears that Robb's condition may not continue to improve. In the face of all the suffering in this world, it seems selfish and self absorbed to do such a thing.
Sometimes it seems so silly to be writing at all. Or posting pictures of birds, or documenting our daily activities. I'm not clear on why I'm still writing this.
My silly little blog-writing notwithstanding, I believe that some of the most powerful things we do in life are the things that we do without fully understanding our motives. Sometimes, we act because we must. Sometimes, we're just writing messages, sticking them in bottles, and tossing them into the sea.
Who knows why we write, or what the person who stumbles on our messages may think?