Walhydra isn't certain that she can be "Walhydra" anymore.
When she first entered the blogosphere in 2006, there was no question. She was in a workshop on Social Software in the Libraries the day that Miso the Cat died, and she discovered that she wanted a public outlet for both her immediate grief and her chronic grouchiness. Almost seven years later, things aren't so simple.
In January of 2011, Walhydra's mother, Senior Witch, eased out of this world. In January of this year, Walhydra's father, the Lutheran pastor, did the same.
Death sits always on Walhydra’s shoulder now like an awkward acquaintance, one whom you understand and spend time with privately, yet whom you are unsure how to introduce to friends.
Death has, in fact, been an underlying though oft unmentioned theme throughout the years of this blog. Walhydra’s own origins are in the mid-1990s gathering of a cyberspace Pagan sisterhood centered around the Crone and her awful awareness of life and death commingled. In some curious way, as Walhydra recalls, she seems to have been waiting ever since her early 20s to become the Old Man she now is starting to be.
[Note: For Walhydra’s carelessness about gender, see Crippled Wolf.]
In any case, during those last years of Senior Witch’s life, Walhydra hurt too much to tell sardonically humorous stories about herself and her observations. Even her spirit-twin, Crippled Wolf, was open only to the necessary descriptions of those years.
There hasn’t seemed to be a way to laugh about death…so Walhydra has floundered.
Oh, well. Goddess knows, you have to crawl out from under the bed sometime.
And so it is.
Michael Bright Crow