It is April Eve and again, I am valiantly sitting at the keyboard to write. I pledge right now to do my best to publish a blog post daily in this, the most historically deadly month of my life. April.

I have spent the better part of the last half hour dissecting blog posts from April, 2007 here I captured early grief after my brother, John’s death on April 2 of that year.

I captured a poem my then nine-year-old daughter wrote, a phone call from my mother, an email from my father.

This is why I write, why I blog, why I share what feels painful and what feels joyful and even, on occasion, what is downright boring because all of it is the bold and valiant proclamation, “I am alive, still.”

I cannot say exactly what I will create this month, I will only say that I will create this month. Here is a snippet of the poem I wrote just now, a draft, a poem-in-the-making. Love letter of sorts to life, to grief, to experience. To continuing in April.

It is April Eve. My heart and I, we

are fluttering. We are flailing. We

are openly and willfully gripping the 

sides of the armchair, praying – begging –

to see this through to the end.

Whatever this this may be.

I so wanted this poem to have a happy ending.

I wrote this poem to feel less dead inside, to begin and not end.

No ending, no beginning. Wait.

Wait.

Who said that  only infinite thing?

Fellini, it was. And I hear myself exhale a quiet laugh not laughter

Maybe a lau – breath – gh- breath.

I cry into the palms of my hands and feel the chilled fingers

reach across my lined forehead.

What is a happier ending than to still being able

to put letters on a page, like a five-year-old-me 

scrawled cursive lower case e’s before I knew how language 

worked, I simply knew language was. It existed. I existed. Together.

We would create. This. And That. Something.

Badly, better, happier, boring, worst, best, eeeeeeeee

looping carefully in pencil across blue lines 

Eeeeeee as I sat, deeply focused in the country

squire before I was

Banished to the way back

I never knew

someday a much older version of me

would create a magic circle to honor

my brother and give a gift to my father and my 

mother no one else could give?

It is April Eve. My heart and I, we

are fluttering. We are looping through another

April. We are alive. We are still writing

things down. If I am still alive in fifteen 

years I can recall the things I will have 

Inevitably forgotten this.

===

I hope we will connect meaningfully this month.

Julie JordanScott is a Creative Life Coach, an award-winning storyteller, actor and poet whose photos and mixed media art graces the walls of collectors across the United States. Her writing has appeared on the New York Times Best Sellers List, the Amazon best sellers list and on American Greetings Holiday cards (and other greeting cards). She currently lives in a manse in Sussex, NJ, where she is working on finishing her most recent book project, hugging trees daily and enjoys having random inspirational conversations with strangers.

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