Jumping Off The Cliff

Below is a letter I wrote to the producer this morning in response to one from him. The raw mix of the radio documentary is in the mail to me. As far as I know it will air within a month, maybe a little later than that. I don't want to post the link here to where you can listen to it so if you would email me [writerchick62 AT yahoo DOT ca] then I will create a mailing list and send the information when I know it. It will be streamed live and will be available afterwards to listen to online. And then there's the old fashioned way of actually listening to it on the radio.
For some reason this morning tears are close to the surface.


Thank you Radio Producer.
Thank you.

I feel like I've somewhat fallen apart this week.
A combination of the sedative on Monday (that's the first time
in 20 years that I felt drunk and it was more than scary afterwards how
good drunk can still feel. God help me never take that first sip or I'm sunk. I know that at a deeper level now. That I didn't relapse right then and there,
considering the emotional upheaval of this past while,
tells me my recovery is solid.
For today, by the grace of God, I can do this.)
and finally being still enough to process the stress
of the past month while doing this piece.

In the end it is worth it.
I'm still humbled by the process.
And by the healing.
Not many people get to see me
at my most vulnerable.
I've only learned to feel my feelings
in the past 8 months since
I came out of treatment.
So I'm still new at it.
It's a testament to you as a person
that my walls didn't go up while taping.
I tend to think of my walls going up
being like the electric windows in a car
except mine move with lightning speed.

I'm glad that you are pleased with the
final mix. I know how satisfying it is to
write something good.
If there was anything to be cut I'm glad
you cut the packing scene.
That was most uncomfortable for me to tape.
Cutting it doesn't take away from my story.

I'm quite sure I'll be fine with the final mix.
For all my earlier panic, while the sedative was wearing off,
I do trust your instincts.
My biggest fear was that I would turn in material that
was crappy and not worth using. That you'd all roll your eyes
and wonder why my pitch had been accepted.
I have my own insecurities.

The scene with the peas in the garden.
I haven't even gone back during my therapy sessions
and relived anything.
That was really brutal.
The hardest part of the whole process.
Had I gone with my gut that day I would have pushed
myself back from the microphone,
turned my chair to face the window
and screamed all the pain out of my body.
But I remind myself that I not only survived the initial incident,
I survived the retelling, too.

I sent my mom a Mother's Day card last week.
This is only the second year in my life that I haven't stood
in the Mother's Day section seething with anger over
the pathetic cards portraying mothers who don't exist.
I found a card this year that fit really well.
That spoke truth.
I talked to my mom yesterday.
She said, "Thank you for the lovely card."
She cried when I told her to remember
that what the card said was true.
This is the first year she was accepting
it might really be.
And that wouldn't have happened without
taking all the risks this piece
gave me the chance to take.
So there you go.
Thank you.