August was the last time I posted here. It has been a while.

In the small hours of a Sunday morning a few weeks ago, I loaded one of my posts onto my little netbook and pushed it across my kitchen table to my dear friend. She scrolled through, laughing, then taking in a sharp breath the way she does when she comes across a thought that strikes her as profound, then breaking down into tears.

“Do you have any idea the gift you have?” she said to me.

I did. I always have. Almost before I knew I was good at anything else, I knew that I could write. That is why I do this: because I’m good at it. No other reason. That’s it- just an ego-building hobby that also happens to develop a skill valuable to employers. The world does not need another blog from another white, first world, college educated mom/feminist/atheist/science nerd/whatever. Therefore, other responsibilities take priority, and the internet chugs along blissfully without me.

In the meantime, a sad, profound thing has happened in my life, making this hobby difficult to resume.

My ex-husband passed away November 10, 2012. He died of a pulmonary embolism. I wanted to use my gift to honour his memory. I wanted to write something that would let people know exactly what kind of person he was and how much he is missed. I wanted to write something that wasn’t all about me.

It turns out that isn’t going to happen. The grief of an ex-spouse of someone who dies, especially so soon after the end of the marriage, is much too complicated and personal for me to work through out in the open.

In the meantime, I need my blog back. Christopher Hitchens once said, “If you can talk, you can write.” I’ve experienced the inverse of this maxim. Face to face conversation often requires quite a bit of mental energy on my part, and I’ve had to actively work on this skill to even have a normal social life. I’ve found that the more I write, which is something that has always come easily for me, the better I become at communicating verbally.

I will say that for all his faults, in many ways, Bryan made me a better person. I miss him, many times to the point of tears. As I write this now, the tears well up. Once in a while, in my dreams, I see him. He always looks so real, and I always hug him, as if physically holding on to him will keep him from going away when I wake up.