Monday, February 17, 2014


I have always been someone who needed solitude. Alone time gives me a chance to refresh my batteries, listen to my internal dialogue, reconnect with my secret selves.

These days alone time is confusing and not a little scary. I still need it, but it no longer feels safe. It is too easy to imagine what may come, the pains and hardships. It's disquieting, finding myself dreading one of the things I need the most.

In this state I find myself clinging to social media. Has anyone posted anything new on Facebook? On CaringBridge? Anyone? Hello? I suppose that's why I'm writing this post, to feel connected, even if I am alone in our home.

I need to relearn how to dance with solitude, relearn how to trust myself in the dark.

Maybe more than anything I need to remember that I am in new territory and the old rules may not apply. I am forging a new path through unfamiliar lands and maybe the only thing I can really do is trust that I have managed this well for this long, I can manage a little longer.

And maybe I need to remember that I am not alone. All I need to do is reach out and I will be accompanied through the night.

Ultimately, that is why I write. So I am not alone but in company with my thoughts, with you  reading this, with the universe watching me dance.

This isn't the most coherent blog post, but right now? It's enough to look up from my own fear and say
How are you this evening? 
I'm managing. 
And for now that's enough.

(c)2014 Laura S. Packer Creative Commons License


  1. I'm here, Laura. About to go to bed (7 am mammogram tomorrow), but here to read and to know that we are both awake and tired. You are forging a very hard path, one that too quickly teaches as many kinds of "alone" as Eskimos (outdated word) are said to have ways of describing snow. All I can offer is the love I and so many others bear for you. May you sleep and be refreshed, dear friend.

  2. Understand and appreciate your wishing to connect by writing so that we can connnect back with you. Its funny isn't it - how you know that connection is being made - I have felt comforted by it and I hope the same for you. Your post is beautiful - so clear except on one thing for me - I feel that solitude which brings peace and strength is not the same as the lonliness that often filled me in hours similar to those you are going through - but it helped me when I could pinpoint the difference - and know which I was dealing with. Reaching out to hold your hand -

  3. When I find myself in times of trouble
    Mother Mary comes to me
    Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
    And in my hour of darkness
    She is standing right in front of me
    Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
    Let it be, let it be.
    Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

  4. Wish it weren't so, but the road is well-traveled. You are not alone on this cancer journey. You are not alone in the army of those who love someone with cancer -- praying, hoping, wishing, and pushing dark thoughts of fear and the unknown tomorrows back into the shadows. Seek the light -- the small moments of grace that are part of the path we walk -- and then pass it on.
    Deep breaths. One step at a time.

  5. And we see you dance so gracefully through this chaos, knowing, although sometimes forgetting that we all pass through chaos to get to the next level.


True Stories, Honest Lies by Laura S. Packer is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at
Related Posts with Thumbnails