There are so many reasons not to.
I don't have time.
I'm doing too much already, why add another thing?
It's going to exhaust me.
It's going to be mentally draining.
It's going to hurt emotionally.
It's hard enough dealing with grief, let alone writing about it.
Who would even bother reading?
Who would even support me in this?
I have no letters after my name. Because of that, what I write about really shouldn't be taken seriously.
Who am I, little ol' me, that anybody would care to read?
Is my story even important?
Are my thoughts, my heart, my soul being laid bare, even worthy of someone taking the time to read about?
What difference would it make?
Really, who cares?
***These are all honest thoughts I have had. I'm quite sure I'll continue to have them. I could add to the list, but that's the crux of it all.
She sat in the rocking chair, rocking that sweet little toddler. He giggled. She prayed with him, laughed with him, sang to him, and she tucked him into his bed.
Minutes later, life would change forever. Her new best friend, her Momma, whom she'd been getting to know more intimately since becoming a mother herself, would leave this world behind 10 very long and brutal days after that phone call.
It's for that young lady's little boy that I write. It's for that young lady's husband that I write.
For all the times she cried herself to sleep, running out of strength to cry anymore, I write.
For all the days she saw another girl her age spending time with her Mother, watching them go on shopping trips, seeing them enjoy a coffee together, I write.
For all the days she wished her Momma would walk in her house, babysit her son so she and her husband could go out on a much needed date...I write.
For all the times she wanted to call her Momma and ask her questions about her own childhood, I write. For all the times she just wanted to get into a good ol' mother/daughter argument, I write. For all the moments of remembering, wishing memories of my Momma would be replaced with new experiences with her, I write.
For over seven years, I have used this blog as a place to write about the grief thrusted upon me since losing my sweet Momma. Life handed me this deep, empty, ongoing heartache...and I have so many questions about it. So many frustrations, so many doubts.
Love is unending, indescribable, so vast that it fills our hearts and our days with things that will not fit into words. If love is so massive that it can't be contained in our words, then naturally, grief is just as vast. Just as unending. Just as indescribable.
One thing I know, it will never end. Grief, in all its messiness, will always be something I carry.
For all the sweet humans I've had the privilege of talking to, who have sent messages to me, cried with me, who carry this great burden of grief that should never be carried alone...wondering if they are alone in their tears...I write.
It's been a long time coming, y'all.
I'll be piecing together select writings from this blog, and putting it all in one thing. That thing is called a BOOK. !!!!!!! I'm excited and scared. There are still plenty of questions, lots of uncertainties, and I am sure I'll continue to second guess this decision. I think my husband will keep nudging me along. (Lord knows I'll need it.) I can think of a million and seven reasons not to do this. It's hard stuff to live with, and it's hard to write about. Naturally, this is a little intimidating to me. However, it needs to be done. If the only person who gets a copy and reads it is my husband, so be it. I'm doing this in memory of my Momma, in honour of her. I miss you, and you are so much more
than memories. I love you, Momma. I'm doing this to document my story, filled with deep sorrow, filled with anger, questions, frustrations, tears, faithless moments...full of unending grief. (Because grief is unending.) This is my way of speaking to the depths of grief others carry. Never sugarcoating this dark burden. Always raw and honest. It is my way of letting you know that in your grief, you are not alone.
So I guess, stay tuned? Or something? : ) Or, ignore and carry on, if you prefer.
I hope my story in this upcoming book can help other precious humans learn to embrace the grief that was thrust upon them.
"Bear one another's burdens, and thereby fulfill the law of Christ."
Galatians 6:2
I'm doing too much already, why add another thing?
It's going to exhaust me.
It's going to be mentally draining.
It's going to hurt emotionally.
It's hard enough dealing with grief, let alone writing about it.
Who would even bother reading?
Who would even support me in this?
I have no letters after my name. Because of that, what I write about really shouldn't be taken seriously.
Who am I, little ol' me, that anybody would care to read?
Is my story even important?
Are my thoughts, my heart, my soul being laid bare, even worthy of someone taking the time to read about?
What difference would it make?
Really, who cares?
***These are all honest thoughts I have had. I'm quite sure I'll continue to have them. I could add to the list, but that's the crux of it all.
She sat in the rocking chair, rocking that sweet little toddler. He giggled. She prayed with him, laughed with him, sang to him, and she tucked him into his bed.
Minutes later, life would change forever. Her new best friend, her Momma, whom she'd been getting to know more intimately since becoming a mother herself, would leave this world behind 10 very long and brutal days after that phone call.
It's for that young lady's little boy that I write. It's for that young lady's husband that I write.
For all the times she cried herself to sleep, running out of strength to cry anymore, I write.
For all the days she saw another girl her age spending time with her Mother, watching them go on shopping trips, seeing them enjoy a coffee together, I write.
For all the days she wished her Momma would walk in her house, babysit her son so she and her husband could go out on a much needed date...I write.
For all the times she wanted to call her Momma and ask her questions about her own childhood, I write. For all the times she just wanted to get into a good ol' mother/daughter argument, I write. For all the moments of remembering, wishing memories of my Momma would be replaced with new experiences with her, I write.
For over seven years, I have used this blog as a place to write about the grief thrusted upon me since losing my sweet Momma. Life handed me this deep, empty, ongoing heartache...and I have so many questions about it. So many frustrations, so many doubts.
Love is unending, indescribable, so vast that it fills our hearts and our days with things that will not fit into words. If love is so massive that it can't be contained in our words, then naturally, grief is just as vast. Just as unending. Just as indescribable.
One thing I know, it will never end. Grief, in all its messiness, will always be something I carry.
For all the sweet humans I've had the privilege of talking to, who have sent messages to me, cried with me, who carry this great burden of grief that should never be carried alone...wondering if they are alone in their tears...I write.
It's been a long time coming, y'all.
I'll be piecing together select writings from this blog, and putting it all in one thing. That thing is called a BOOK. !!!!!!! I'm excited and scared. There are still plenty of questions, lots of uncertainties, and I am sure I'll continue to second guess this decision. I think my husband will keep nudging me along. (Lord knows I'll need it.) I can think of a million and seven reasons not to do this. It's hard stuff to live with, and it's hard to write about. Naturally, this is a little intimidating to me. However, it needs to be done. If the only person who gets a copy and reads it is my husband, so be it. I'm doing this in memory of my Momma, in honour of her. I miss you, and you are so much more
than memories. I love you, Momma. I'm doing this to document my story, filled with deep sorrow, filled with anger, questions, frustrations, tears, faithless moments...full of unending grief. (Because grief is unending.) This is my way of speaking to the depths of grief others carry. Never sugarcoating this dark burden. Always raw and honest. It is my way of letting you know that in your grief, you are not alone.
So I guess, stay tuned? Or something? : ) Or, ignore and carry on, if you prefer.
I hope my story in this upcoming book can help other precious humans learn to embrace the grief that was thrust upon them.
"Bear one another's burdens, and thereby fulfill the law of Christ."
Galatians 6:2
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