Writing about difficult things

I thought I would never be able to write about the 14th because as you can imagine it was such a traumatic experience, and it still is.

"I don't think I can write about that day." I said to Rev. Mugo. She seemed to accept that however within a second she said, “At least you can write about that cat!” I paused for a moment and said “Okay, I think so.” Yes, I thought, at least I can write about the ginger cat.

I wrote only a few lines about the cat. I didn’t want to remember that day not to mention writing about details so I stopped there and thought, Right, this is today’s post. The readers after all are all kind people. I’m sure they know the difficulty and they will understand.

Added to this, in Japan, on such occasions, remaining silent and not being talkative is supposed to be good manners. So I sometimes feel when writing this blog I’m doing something very unusual for a Japanese person. Actually for anybody who has just lost his/her partner for that matter. Am I a weirdo? Would Iain have written his blog if I had died suddenly? Maybe. Maybe not. Can people write about horrible experience so quickly afterwards? It took my father fifty years before he could start speaking about his experiences of the atomic bomb. He was in a crowded bus going towards Hiroshima city centre when the bomb dropped. He was 14 years old. I wonder how I am able to write this now. For what reason, and for whom?

When I read aloud my post to Rev. Mugo (I always ask her to listen to me reading what I have written), she seemed to be waiting for the next sentence. Realising I had stopped writing, she said, “So… what happened then?” I talked about what had happened. “Then you can write that,” she said kindly. So I typed a few more lines. This is how we proceeded. When it came to the point that was so painful to remember I couldn’t even talk, and cried. She was sitting next to me and I could feel she was experiencing my pain through her own body. Slowly we proceeded, with her never pushing me to write further and telling me that I didn’t have to publish what I’d written. She suggested however that writing might help me, as well as others. Some time after we started, she got up and moved away from me and sat on the floor leaning against the wall. I think she did this to avoid any sense of my feeling pressured to keep writing and also so that we could face each other while we were talking.

So I started to tell her what had happened. Often I hesitated to describe something intimate and said “I don’t know how to write about it.” At one time I even said, “Maybe I’ll write only up to here and the rest I can write some time later.” She nodded with a smile and somehow her being there kept me going. I think sharing this whole experience was very difficult for Rev. Mugo. She was realising empathy and patience by means of her existence.

After struggling together for an hour or two – again I lost track of time – the previous post was completed. It was done only with the support of Rev. Mugo, I can’t imagine me doing it on my own, alone. Actually we hugged each other after posting it on the net.

In deep gratitude to Rev. Mugo.

posted by Edera