It's always been for my Mom

Despite my New Year's goal to write in this blog more frequently, I have failed miserably.  Part of it is having a baby at home, part of it is questions about how public I want my life to be in Saudi Arabia, but mostly it has been because Mom died this summer.  She died suddenly at home from a heart attack.  She died in my dad's arms.  I was at FSI when I found out.  It was a week before my Arabic test and 8 days before we were supposed to have a big family reunion.  It sucked.

Since then, I haven't been able to blog, not because I haven't had things to say (Passing my Arabic test, the pack-out from hell, Saudi Arabia is fascinating!), but because I didn't know how to start writing again.  How do I write anything about this summer without talking about the massive hole in my heart and my soul?  I didn't (don't) want to write publicly about her death.  But skipping over it and pretending it didn't happen wasn't an option either.  So every time I thought about writing something, I had this giant decision to make - talk about Mom's death (and it's impact on every

thing, every moment this summer) or skip over it on the blog.  This choice blocked anything else I wanted to write.  This post is my feeble attempt to address the issue.

And that brings me back to writing this blog.  It sprung from letters I wrote home when I was a high school exchange student in Italy.  By the time I was a college exchange student, I had upgraded to an email list serve.  When blogs started to gain popularity I switched formats again and I started this blog in 2010 just before I started A-100.  Whenever I wrote, I always knew that whatever I wrote, Mom would read it.  She was my audience.  Others could and did read what I wrote, but I always wrote with her in mind.  If I wasn't willing to tell my mother a story, I knew I shouldn't blog about it.  And my Mom was a great audience.  She would always comment to me (either online or on the phone) about what I wrote.  She loved my stories.  I always assumed that at least 80% of her love for my stories was because I was her son and maybe 20% was the writing or the story.  I've always been okay with that.

Right now, I don't know if I will keep blogging or not.  For 6 years, blogging has brought me joy. Today, it only brings me sadness.

I miss you Mom, I love you the most.

Thanksgiving in San Antonio

Drinking beers at the British High in Belize

Dancing at my wedding