Hi Scott, I guess when I publish something, it means I am open to others reading it and commenting on it, though of course no one really knows what’s behind it. I was reading a book recently where they were saying how lyrics or poetry that we write in a moment will cease to represent “us” because we move on from that moment, but their value lies in how they might help someone else feeling something similar at another moment. Some of my f2f friends commented on facebook, particularly the ones who lost their fathers recently, so I think in that sense I feel “good” for publishing it. Comments make me feel heard, as I have stopped looking at the wordpress stats to know how many ppl see my stuff, so I like getting comments, though I know someone can read/appreciate, but have nothing to add. I guess in some ways I want my online friends who care to know what kind of emotions I am going through, for some reason. Maybe because in other interactions I seem more bubbly? But you, particularly Scott, seem to be very much in tune with me, including the subtleties behind some of my posts where I bury my pain in the midst of other stuff. Less explicit than this one, although this one is hiding a lot of stuff, too.
Thanks for sharing the insight about your own relationship with your kids. I feel like having a child is the one thing that made me start to fear my own death. Not for myself, but for her. How would i know she’s ok, taken care of, happy? I guess you almost can’t know it when you’re alive but you can try