Not Cancelled

      Something that wasn’t cancelled, she prompted, and the one thing that is boldfaced in my mind is the living entity of Grief. In fact, as each event, each portion of my social and author related life fell off the rails, Grief grew in proportion to everyday moments. It multiplied exponentially, fueled by the erosion of cancellations. No CrossFit. No counseling. No massage therapy. No chiropractor. No Sozo, school visits, F440, RCWP sponsored Bay retreats/workshops/marathons. No week in New Orleans, wandering with dear friends and fellow writers seemingly aimlessly through the French Quarter, notebooks in hand, decadent food in bellies and music in our hearts. 

     But Grief, oh, the monster that is Grief breathed deeply of all I was losing, savored the weight of loss that settled heavily upon my shoulders and heart, and laughed an evil cacophony as my physical, mental, and emotional well-being faded with each passing day.

     Yet, recently I was shocked to find that one other important thing wasn’t cancelled either. My spirit. My stubbornness in the face of adversity. My will to write and share and laugh and cry with dear friends and fellow writers. Grief did its best to cancel me, but despite its powerful hold I didn’t quit. Though it felt as if I was lost, in the end, I learned, or relearned, that Grief is not as powerful as I am.

     The fight will continue, but that is only because Grief cannot be cancelled. In spite of the forces loosed by the Pandemic, I learned I have not been cancelled. I will not be cancelled, because it is worth the good times to fight through the worst of times.