I’ve been an off-and-on journal writer for 19 years. As part of the Anne of Green Gables RAL-KAL, I’m rereading one of my favourite series. My Uni has the Norton critical edition of AGG and I also found LMM’s journals (edited) there. LMM and I are most definitely kindred spirits and I hope in the coming weeks and months to write more about journal writing (and reading) in general, my approaches to it, and LMM. I’m happy I’m an Anne. :)
Approximately 19 years ago (this coming 14 Feb), I received my first
journal diary (it had a lock). I wonder if it’s in some unknown box or if we tossed it in the move. I wrote it in pretty faithfully for the first bit. I wonder if I wrote there eighteen years ago today.
Eighteen years and one day ago I had few concerns. My writing was of joy. Yes, I knew sorrow (I lost all of my grandparents by the time I was 7½). Yes, I knew pain (I fell off my bike frequently and hand-me-downs were more common than new). But thankfully, I knew love. Wow. Eighteen years. My writing over the years has changed; both from that day and that I’ve grown in all ways and manners. What does a child do? Say? I won’t deny I wonder “what if” frequently. (I do that for everything but especially in this case). I take comfort in events that help to remember. Some events are forever closed to me, something I struggle with often, but have slowly come to accept.
I have written for years and will continue to write. It helps. I won’t forget. I know I’m loved. I need to thank my mother for being the amazing role model and parent she is and for having that dual role that no child or parent ever wishes for. Thank you. I love you, both.