Dry spell. Don't laugh. Or do. But read.

I think with my recent graduation, and with the enormous heartsong of a card my father gave me, and a coming of age/coming to terms with that relationship, I essentially ran out of words for a few days.

I realize that's fine, and we can/should learn to live and be in happiness however quiet or resounding it is, but this silence has made me feel more uneasy, more questioning, more moreness. And I'm a little-too-much most days as is.

I've been thinking about what true-value this blog brings to folks who read it, folks who know me, and, based on analytics the folks who read and don't know me in Alaska, in Iran (hi friends), those referred from Facebook, from LinkedIn (hi future employers and colleagues).

I have been wondering how and if it is OK that I'm unsure if and how my brand of caregiving fits what folks may remember caregiving looking like, months ago, years ago. Some of my caregiving ends with the last four digits of my social, some of its in urgent-care centers, most of it is on weekends, and in late night phone calls. Some of it will always and only be in my heart.

I remember conversations with my now 92 year old (feisty and cussy) grandmother. Caregiving for her as a nurse was round-the-clock, tiresome. It threatened to grove her even-now perfect skin in sockets, deepen her already deep set eyes. Caregiving for family was even more tiresome, though she never called it that, it was simply, a duty.

I wonder how much it is for me. I'll admit, I don't know about that. It's more magnetic, puling and pushing me at the same time.
And I wonder, for my readers, for my Facebook friends and Family (hi Pauls and Prasads) if that is also ok, in the this is legitimate sense, this is not burdensome of a read sense, and in a this is helpful sense.

I think that's the point.
I'm getting there.

Ultimately, however, I've been thinking, and I'll likely keep doing so.
In the interim, I'll be caregiving, which today looks like ordering fresh edamame Mummi will turn her nose up to.
I'll be coordinating the delivery. Emailing my father to support him in her care. I will be worrying too, but I don't clock those hours.

Profound to me.