Suffering From Tremendous Grief By Writing From Your Pain
3 years ago, I started formulating a fiction for tweens, Belle in the Slouch Hat. This is a story about a young girl who searches for revenge after her brother was killed during the Civil War. I consciously started the storyline for my grandchildren; and I needed something to fill an emptiness in me because of the loss of my beloved mother, and another special woman in my life. They died within two months of each other.
In the event that someone we love dies, we need to grieve; there is no way to avoid it. Everyone must move through the sorrow and agony in their own way. My approach was writing.
Just after the loss of those I treasured, it felt as though something was blocking my hurting and keeping me through the cruelty and depression that comes with death. To this day, there’s no doubt that it had been the Holy Spirit helping me through the single most difficult times in my life. You many decide to call it something different, but I believe it was the Holy Spirit. Soon after that, the reality of the deaths set in and I had no choice but to undergo the next phase of losing someone you care about, the grieving process.
At age sixy-one, I sat at my computer; I started to write, and I started to get better. I started out writing a novel devoid of the full awareness of what I was getting into. I didn’t stop thinking about the volume of hours which I would so willingly give to it, nor did I stop to think there was a correct way of doing it, all I know was I had to write. Sometimes it was down-right physically, mentally, and emotionally painful; other times, I felt drained of every once of energy in my body. Occasionally, my sense of meaning and my most treasured beliefs about life were challenged.
There was clearly hardly any schedule for when I needed to finish; and no one could influence to me when it could be finished. It required a lot of time; not a day, not a month, not just one year, but two full years.
Aside from the primary three pages of my book, I did not have an order, or a plot ot follow, I just wanted to write. I even built a imaginary barrier around me and didn’t want anyone to know what exactly I was writing, except my husband.
The more often I wrote, the greater I desired to create. Writing provided an outlet to cry, to laugh, and also have an adventure. Unknowingly, I had put together my very own support group with the people within my story. For me, it was a secure setting to express my emotions and thoughts and process my saddness. I also found a way for me to commenorate those I loved.
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