Well, I'm home.

It's been a poignant couple of weeks. There has been a lot of crying, hugging, and sharing but still, I am incredibly fatigued and numb. So yeah, no writing going on.

In addition to the loss of my grandmother, I learned that my family of birth doesn't read my blog. It didn't surprise me - I've always been the oddball of the bunch (and that's pretty darn odd, considering our bunch). But it did sting.

I'm trying to soothe that sting. The best thing I've come up with is that I am free to say whatever the hell I want here. I could write about my intimate secrets - well, ok, not that I *want* to say that much about my private life, but I *could*!

My grandmother believed in me. The Charming Man and my family of choice believes in me. And that goes a long way towards making the world a better place.

Death and other realities

My maternal grandmother passed away early this morning.  She was 94.

This is the second death for The Charming Man and I in one month.

I'm numb with grief. My grandmother gave me my love of history and my love of writing. She was the only one who seemed happy that I chose history as my major and pursued that love to an MA. She was the one who inspired me to study the Ancient World and the Middle East. She also gave me my love of romantic stories.

Everything that swirls around a death - the rituals, the services, the pain, the bizarre family in-jokes, the potential for the eruption of uncomfortable truths - creates a sense of drama and mystery. Life is sharper, fiercer, and more precious than ever.

Someday, I will write a gentle, historical romance story for her.

Thank you, Grandma, for loving me. You never gave up on me.