Getting a Life

Robin Botie of Ithaca, New York, photoshops a cover for her manuscript that helped her heal from child loss, and will now be shared on her blog.“Mom, get a life,” my daughter Marika often told me, mostly when she was angry with me. It was the last coherent thing she said to me, “Get a life.” And after she died I did everything I could think of to make a new life for myself, one she’d approve of.

Mainly, I tried to do all the things Marika loved to do. Things I’d never considered before. Like writing, blogging, and photographing. It was comforting to coop myself up at home for endless days crafting weekly blogs and a 200-page memoir about our journey together through the wilds of cancer. It was like duetting with my daughter. Or with her ghost. Writing and rereading the manuscript brought her back to me, made her come alive again and again. It helped me heal. I never needed to get the work published. It did enough just giving me a foothold to re-enter the world.

There’s a problem with getting a life, or getting a new life. Living isn’t just about doing things or maintaining one single mission. And people change. I’ve changed. Nine years after Marika’s death, I’m finding I need more time to watch birds, or to simply sit and do next to nothing. I want to spend more time in the company of friends, to listen to others’ stories. To listen to music, to maybe even dance. These days there’s never enough time to record meaningful material for my readers. It takes me forever to compose. Yet writing, blogging, is a connection to Marika and to my newfound community that I do not want to give up.

When Marika died, long before I could begin to write, it helped to read what others had written about their losses. So I’m hoping you won’t mind if I share bits and pieces of my own manuscript here, in my weekly blogs, over the next weeks. Or months. Just to keep in touch while I venture out to discover where life will lead me next.

 

 

 

How do You Define Yourself?

How do You Define Yourself? - Robin Botie of Ithaca, New York, defines herself as a bereaved mother, forever.A Bereaved Mother. Is that how you’re going to define yourself forever? A friend asked me this. And for a long while the question bothered me. Mostly because it seemed to suggest I’d lost my self as well as my daughter. But A Bereaved Mother is not all of who I am. When my daughter died I lost my old life, and in many ways I changed. Yet I am still me. And if you ask me who or what that is, you will get only an abbreviated account of where I stand at that one moment in time.

And yes, being a mother is forever. I am a proud mother of an amazing live grown son and of a beloved daughter who died. This will always be towards the beginning of the complex outline of how I define myself.

Wildfires

Wildfires Robin Botie of Ithaca, New York, photographs a New Year's campfire while the wildfires blaze in Australia.In Ithaca New York’s cold wet winter, we lit candles and campfires, bonfires even, to herald in the New Year. At the time, I didn’t know that on the opposite side of our planet, in Australia, not too far from where I left my daughter’s ashes, there was ongoing, worsening fiery devastation. The media is now filled with images of wildfires forcing people and their pets to flee to nearby shores, houses exploding, homes and whole towns in smoldering ruins, volunteers comforting injured koalas and kangaroos… they say half a billion animals have been lost. And I don’t know how many hearts have been broken in all this. But I will never again be able to bask in the warm glow of a fire without remembering the videos of roaring flames and smoky orange skies, and people trapped on beaches, watching as winds sweep the blazes ever closer.