Читать книгу NORMAL Doesn't Live Here Anymore - Barb BSL Owen - Страница 9

The world as I knew it had collapsed into chaos, leaving my emotions in a tangled mess. Wandering without clarity from one day to the next, I picked up a pen and began writing. It was a way of remembering, and an attempt to remove the incessant chatter from my head. Even as the foggy days of caregiving were playing out in front of me, I discovered that fatigue fathered forgetfulness. I was terrified that I would allow exhaustion to cloud my memories and felt compelled to write everything in the notebook I kept with me. Writing a book was the farthest thing from my mind. Survival and remembering were my only goals.

After several years of noting events and feelings, the notebook of thoughts seemed to take on a life of its own and evolved into the idea for this story. My mother read the original draft when it was about 75% completed. Her response, “Thank you so much for writing this. I’d forgotten so many things about our journey together.” And she went on to say, “You should let other people read this. I like it!”

With Mom’s approval and encouragement, I am sharing this story with you.

…