T’was National Notebook Day.
Being somewhat of a Notebook Enthusiast, I thought about buying yet another notebook to celebrate the holiday.
However, having about 100 beautiful ones already kicking around, completely unused, I decided to just honour the best ones.
My mom picked up this little French bulldog one for me when she was visiting at the ‘daiso’ Christina and I love to go to. I had bought the same one for James as a stocking stuffer Christmas time.
The “Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.” Notebook was a going-away gift from my friend Crystal. We know each other from working together at a restaurant when my sister died. She was the first one there at the memorial blood drive to donate blood. Last summer she was managing a different restaurant and offered me a place there. At that time her sister was going through a tremendous surgery that went a wry, to say the least. I tried to support her and we became very close throughout the whole ordeal. She is one of my dearest friends.
Next up is the notebook I bought when Sarah died.
I desperately needed to write down everything I could think of about her in case it would all disappear. I wanted to have something to give Rowan, Grant and Ellis. I worried all the little things about her would fade with my memory. I know they will be able to ‘google’ their mom’s name and read ‘teacher’ and ‘rare cancer’ and ‘tragedy’ over and over again.
I wanted them to know she was useless at wrapping presents and shovelling. That she had asthma. That she loved to harmonize to songs that were playing.
I wrote furiously in it at first, but haven’t touched it in a while.
It’s too painful and I tortured myself for not being able to write out every single thing about her. So I stopped.
‘Perfection paralysis’ they call it in the biz
…the creativity biz, that is… not the dead sister biz… that would be ridiculous.
We are approaching three years without her now. I still think about her all day, every day. I lie awake at night thinking about her death- her pain and fear as she was dying, what she must have went through, what I will someday have to go through, where she could be now, do we actually have souls.
I have flashes of memories – her looking through her refrigerator, or the way she rubbed her eyes with her whole hand in exasperation sometimes. I think of the time she got Grant to demonstrate saying ‘mama’ (his first word) and the expression of pure enjoyment of how cute she thought he was, and of proud she was, on her face. I think about moments like when she thought I was hilarious when I would throw a small piece of firewood on the fire and make a moan/sigh sound as if it was really heavy, and when I ran into her, unexpectedly, jogging back from the swimming pool with Rowan in the stroller.
Anyway, thank you, notebooks, for helping house the memories I worry will grow dimmer as the years pass.