A Light for My Path

Many of my friends who are writers have had a significant loss in their lives (child, spouse, parent, marriage, home, job, etc.). These losses are devastating even if they were foreseen. My mother died of breast cancer in 1995 at age 62. She was diagnosed with the disease five years prior and the doctors warned us that the treatments they could provide would slow the progression of her cancer and give her some pain relief for a while. But she could not be cured.

Her death was not a surprise. We who loved her had time to make amends for any wrongs we had made or guilt we felt. And we got to say our goodbyes, as hard as that was.

My younger daughter was in a fatal car accident in 2017 at the age of 30. Her death was completely unexpected and felt like a physical blow to her friends and family members, including her husband of just two months.

Whatever the circumstances, losing someone or something significant tends to make you introspective. Although you may be bitter and angry at first, grief forces you to look at what’s really important.

When my mother was first diagnosed, I lived 800 miles away from my parents. I was in my early thirties and had two small daughters. I was going through a bitter divorce and starting a new relationship. I also had a new job that required quite a bit of travel. I went to be with my parents for my mother’s initial surgery. But I felt like I couldn’t spend a lot of time with them. I was flailing to control all the stresses in my life and didn’t always have my priorities in order.

Over the course of the next few years, my life settled into a manageable routine. While my mother was still able to travel, she came to visit several times. My girls had always spent at least a month each summer with my parents in Tennessee and that continued until about six months before she died. While I grieved my mother’s death, I felt like I had done my duty as a daughter.

With my daughter’s death I was blind-sided. Life was going so well. My husband and I were both progressing in our careers and were looking forward to a comfortable retirement. We had purchased a second home in the country that was our weekend getaway and family gathering place. Our plans were to move there full-time in retirement. Our older daughter, her husband, and four children were back in Florida and close enough to visit every couple of months.

Rachel’s death ripped a hole in my heart. And shattered my illusion of control and contentment.

The first year or more I was a walking nerve. The slightest irritation set my emotions on fire. I would lash out verbally at my husband over something trivial and then cry in his arms. I remember getting terribly angry at my oldest granddaughter and her cousin. They were maybe eight and seven at the time. Rachel’s husband had given them her huge collection of Polly Pocket toys she had stored in the back of a closet. The girls were trying to divide them up and were arguing. Instead of letting them work it out, I yelled at them so harshly they both started crying.

I felt out of control. Years of pent-up guilt, striving for perfection, deep grief, and putting God on the back burner couldn’t be ignored any longer. I needed to slow down and reprioritize. I needed to renew my relationship with God. I needed to let myself grieve in a way that wasn’t destructive to people I love.

I started writing. Something I’ve done sporadically my whole life. Something I had done in the past in response to almost every traumatic incident. Something that I know God guided me back to.

Just when I needed it most, I found a Christian writing critique group. Then I found an online group for grieving parents whose leader just happened to be a writer herself. Well, I really didn’t “find” them. God put them right smack in the middle of my path where I’d either stumble over them or pick them up.

In the six years or so now that I’ve focused on being a scribe, I’ve met many other friends who are authors. Some are people I’ve known for years but didn’t know they wrote. Some are people I’ve connected with specifically through writing. Almost all of them have a loss or tragedy or deep soul pain that compelled them to write. Or rather, compelled them to reach out to God for relief and He said:

“My child, pick up your pen. I’ll give you the words.”

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Laura