The Observer

When I sat down to write about Cheryl's memorial, I stopped several times, turned off the computer and walked away. I came back again, wrote more, hoping to quiet my mind. I saved what I wrote, but did not click the publish button.

I reasoned (as stated in that blog) why I wrote what I wrote, but I still could not bring myself to publish it. Finally, I came to the realization that very few people read my blog posts anyway. I can name all the people who read it on a regular basis. Since there is very little interest in my words anyway, I decided what the heck and clicked the publish button.

Even after going through all that, I still did not feel right about it for some reason. I didn't think it was well written and I struggled to put into words what I was feeling, but there was something else, some deeper, hidden reason why I struggled so much more with this post than I have had with other posts. I mean, I have written some very personal stuff about my bowel movements! If I can do that without shame, what was going on with me now?

Something happened with this post that has not happened with any of my other posts, something I never saw coming. People responded. People reposted. My readership more than doubled in less than 24 hours.

Now, I didn't feel shame or regret so much. After all, I did publish it. I knew that by putting it out there, anyone could read it. So, what was making me uneasy?

Too many people these days post their lives online then get upset or embarrassed when someone responds or calls their hand on it. I am all about not posting what you don't want other people to read or react to (even though I didn't think anyone other than more faithful readers would read this). I put it out there. I knew the possibilities. I wasn't ashamed or embarrassed by my words. Again, I've written worse.

Was it that I didn't think it was well written and not my best work or an adequate expression of my gratitude to/for Cheryl and Eddie? No. I have other post written worse than this one.

Was it my admission that I was lonely, even jealous of the lucky women of the Koinonia Sunday School class who have some amazing, faithful, dedicated, Godly husbands? Nope. The more I thought about that, the less lonely and jealous I felt and the more happy the thought made me.

After my divorce, which was extremely painful, I thought love was the biggest farce created by Satan to toy with God's children. I believed in love between family, but I did not believe in the same kind of selfless love between an unrelated man and woman. I thought, at some point, even if a man and a woman stayed together, they ended up hating each other. (My ex and I are better friends now than when we were married, and although we never grew to hate each other, we sure did do a fantastic job at hurting one another. I think we are both struggling to overcome the damage we did to one another.)

It is refreshing to know that I was wrong. I may never experience that kind of love for myself, but it is refreshing and satisfying to know that kind of love really does exist. It's not just fantasy which fuels great love songs and movies.

Men of the Koinonia Sunday School class at Nashville First Church of the Nazarene, thank you for restoring my faith in the goodness of men and the possibility of a successful relationship.

What, then, made me uncomfortable about the post? Well, the more I thought about it, I realized the reason I felt uncomfortable was that I felt like I was intruding on a very personal moment. I didn't feel that way last year when I wrote about Michael's memorial. I suppose that is a sign of my growth out of cancer and as a person.

If that is the case, I suppose there is no real shame in what I did by posting my thoughts on Cheryl's memorial. I just hope my thoughts and words did not offend the family if any of them did or will end up reading my words. If so, I hope they know my love and gratitude for the example of Cheryl and Eddie is pure. I meant no ill will by anything I have said.

If there's any excuse for me stepping out of line, it's that I'm an observer. I watch the world and what makes people tick. Some people mistake this as shyness, but I'm not shy. I'm just taking it all in and if I don't have anything to say, I don't speak. I get my best ideas from what I see out there and write about life as I see it.

If I write about it, whatever "it" is, it has had some kind of impact on me and/or on the world around me. "It" matters to me and I believe "it" matters to someone else as well.

Therefore, by writing about Cheryl's memorial, I am admitting that her life and her death mattered to me and so many others.

PS. Lisa, I don't mind hugs, especially from great friends such as yourself!!!