Day 10 – Lost Dreams

Today’s Nudge: Write about a dream you once had that you let go of, and where that led you.

Once upon a time, when I was a little girl, I thought I would dream of being a nurse.  But I was told by my mother, “Oh you don’t want to do that, you can’t do that.  You hate blood and you’re afraid of needles.”  So the little girl let go of that dream.

Then I thought I would maybe dream about being a teacher.  But once again I was told by my mother, “Oh no, you can’t do that.  You hate school.”  While it’s true I was not a big fan of school, I really think it was the nuns that made me hate it, or perhaps just dislike it.  And so the little girl I was let that dream go to.

I was learning that maybe it wasn’t wise to share my dreams with my mother.  But also being the slow learner in that respect that I was, I eventually told her other dreams and each was shot down.  Which in turn I let go.  I don’t know what I could have told I that she would have overwhelmingly, enthusiastically cheered me on for.

When I was about 11 or 12, I discovered the “Little House” books.  I read them all, again and again.  I read any book I could find about Laura, and probably watched every single episode of the series at least a dozen times.  I fell in love with Laura and the her Pioneer life.  I wanted to be her.  I wanted to write stories in marbled composition books just like she did.

I dabbled I think, here and there with writing.  Turning to teenaged angst and heartache filled poetry in my mid-teen years.  But nothing was sacred with my mother and she would snoop and pry, reading my private things if she found them.  If she didn’t say something right off, she would stew with it until she would find an opportune time to lash at me with it.

Eventually, I got a bit older, life happened.  I got a job, I liked my job. My boss liked me. I got promoted within about a year to a co-manager position. Writing was pushed to a back burner.  I was working too much to think about anything else.  This was now the late 80’s.

I still thought about writing, but I didn’t do much writing.  I ended up getting married, and without realizing it I married a narcissist. He like my mother was only in the encouraging mood if I was doing something that benefited him.

Then 2005 came and I discovered NaNoWriMo. I was new to it, and didn’t win. But I liked the idea.  I was a research fanatic, looking up all kinds of things for my book idea.  That Christmas he got me a laptop.  But he wanted me to write a story that was his idea.  I told him if he wanted that kind of book written he would just have to do it himself as it wasn’t my cup of tea. I did more and more research.  I was going to be ready for NaNo 2006!

And I was, I think.  It started well enough. But then, my Grandma got sick. We spent all night in the ER before they finally put her in a room.  She sent me home about noon, to sleep, eat and get a shower, change clothes.  My days and evenings were spent in the hospital with her.  Tests were done, scans were run.  She was in congestive heart failure and scans revealed that the breast cancer she beat in 1990, returned and was now spread through her body.  At the end of a week’s stay they sent her home with hospice.  They told me we had three months, I got a week.  She passed away on Thanksgiving Day at Noon.  I was devastated.  This woman, was more like a mother to me than my own. She was my rock and my confidant.  She was my biggest cheerleader.  If there was something I wanted to do or try, she would encourage me and help me if she could.

I stopped writing.  I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t pick up a pen or come to the key board.  I don’t think I tried to write until the next NaNo, but again and again. Year after year, and even in between I couldn’t write or I would write very little.  I’ve only won once, and that was after leaving my  husband.  Writing though, I still struggle.

I haven’t really given up on my dream of writing, it just eludes me. When she died, I feel like my Muse left me.  I don’t know that she was my Muse, but the inspirition grew silent. Every once in awhile, I hear it and I try to hold on as tight as I can.  Grabbing at any bits I can grab ahold of.  I really feel that one day I will write that book, what ever that may be.

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