This blog evolved from an online family news location to a place for me to write about whatever was burning inside me. I cemented the purpose of this blog when I found myself wondering about my grandparents and great grandparents. What did they think about when they were my age? What did they worry about? What did they dream about? What was important to them? What did they do for fun? relaxation? What irritated them? I cannot answer those questions. They didn’t leave a written record. No diaries or books. For whatever reason, they didn’t leave me many clues. A few years ago, I had a dream that explains a little more why I write about me… publicly.
In my dream I had died, but I was able to walk around and experience everything as if I was alive, but no one could see me just like in the movies. The dream began after my funeral was over and everyone got together for fried chicken and potato salad (mom makes a mean potato salad). I did not see everyone there, but I did see my mom. She was standing and staring into space with a despondent look on her face. I felt so bad for her that I walked up and hugged her. I knew she would not be able to feel it, but I wanted to hug her so badly. When I put my arms around her, I could not really feel her, but her eyes opened wide and she gasped! I knew then that she could feel my presence.
Excitedly, I thought that if I could make her feel me, maybe I could interact with the “real world” in other ways. I tried moving things to let them know I was there, but nothing worked until I picked up a pen and wrote on a piece of paper. I could actually write notes to them! I found myself writing to them about what I thought was important. My daughters were making decisions about things and I wanted to tell them how I felt about their decisions, so I wrote it down.
Suddenly, I woke up. I was dazed and unsure if it had been a dream. It felt so real. I sat up on the side of the bed and waited for a minute or two as my mind cleared. I soon realized it must have been a dream, but I was still feeling rattled. I wondered what to do with this dream. I felt like so much more than “just a dream”.
The thought popped into my head that the dream was real. I can actually communicate to my loved ones after I am gone. By writing down the things that are important to me now, they will have them when I am gone.
That dream has driven me ever since. I want my writing to communicate to those I love now and those I love and care about in the future. I want you to know who I am. What I think about. What I dream about. What I fear. What I long for. I want you to know my questions and my doubts. I don’t want my ancestors to put me on a pedestal as if I was some kind of super man who never doubted or feared. I am a man who struggles and wrestles with life and faith.
That is why I write.