Daily Diary, Day 769: Today will be the last day of spiders. Maybe witches next?
The weekend was very productive in terms of writing, averaged 1070 words over the two days.
I also had a number of conversations with others about my friend who just died. I am at the age where friends who are slightly younger than I am are dealing grief over their parents aging or deaths, and friends and family my age who are dealing with unexpected deaths among people our age.
But until this past death, everyone I've lost these past 3 years has lived elsewhere. So this is the first time I am facing both the personal loss of someone I spoke or texted with daily, and also being made aware of how many other people her death has affected as well.
Mortality is a difficult subject for many. Because my mother had a life-long illness and died when I was only in my late 30's, I have generally made my peace with my own and my loved one's mortality. You can even see how I processed my feelings about my mother's death in my mystery series, with Annie, in Maids of Misfortune, the first book, coming to terms with not being with her mother when she died (I wasn't either). Not surprising that the first draft of this book was written only a year after my mother's death.
Mystery writers, particularly of the cozy style, which I feel mine are, get to examine the effects of death on others (since a death is often the motivating force behind the story) but we also get to mediate the fear of death by showing how people support each other in these times. And then we get to provide some sense of resolution in that there is some sort of justice done.
Someone who subscribes to my substack post recently asked why I called myself an Aging Author, why not just an author. In answering her, I reaffirmed in my own mind why these posts aren't just about my writing process, but also about who I am as a writer. And who I am is someone who is coming to terms with what aging feels like, how it shapes my days...and nights...my relationships, and my work. And I feel good about sharing how I am working to live my best life, not inspire of, but because of the fact that I am aging.
So, I did my walks (got in 60 mins each of the past 3 days), my deep cleaning is done for the week to keep down the dust and allergens, I've listened to some podcasts and I am enjoying listening to Alan Bradley's The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, with a delightful 11 year old protagonist, and I'm crying a bit now and again, which is totally appropriate. All in all doing well.
So now, I thought I would leave you with a photo of some cute spiders.
Every day I wonder that seemingly of a sudden, I’ve reached the age of 72 years and 11 1/2 months. I’m enjoying life more than ever before. Never bored, usually tired at the end of the day, eager to get to my morning coffee, my morning walk, and whatever challenge or reward will follow. Recently I was invited to join a study group for older women. Older. Older than who? Well, OK, I must admit boat loads of folks are younger than I am, but…
Age is a gift. The loss of my grandparents showed me that tomorrow is not a promise. The loss of my Dad showed me that love doesn’t die. Watching my Mom stay healthy and active in her mid-nineties has shown me and that life is more worthwhile when we keep on learning. So, yes, I agree that age sets us apart. It elevates us.
Hello dear Sister,
I especially liked this post. I appreciate all of what you shared about death, and more details about the loss of your Mom. I also appreciate the comments about "Aging." It is interesting that in our culture many words referring to this process have a negative connotation. I have worked to choose words that have more positive connotation. I love what one person said once: "I have worked hard for these wrinkles!"