Writers Write...

Leigh McLeroy told us as a women’s conference that “writers write.” Currently I am no writer, but I know I have a story to tell. It is not a happy story nor a good story, or even a fairy tale, though it does start off “A long time ago in a far off place lived a princess (I do believe that every little girl is a princess).” I also believe that my story will have a happy ending. Call me an optimist.

I thought I would start writing. I want to tell my story, I want to share who I am. I want to get out of me the words within. Deep down I am a writer, if not I would not be a preacher. Preachers write before the talk.

I’m not actually starting my story today, not the time I want to, I need more time to think about it than a few moments at work, I just feel griped to start writing today. I was struck by a few things today that made me think about writing and about Leigh’s comment that writers write. I was thinking about my Uncle Roger and the grief that my cousin must face and the knowledge of the grief I know my grandmother faces this morning. My cousin and I have been emailing and I have asked for a few of my uncle’s trains. My family has a weird fascination with trains. I grew up with a train under the Christmas tree every year and now Christmas just isn’t the same. I think my husband thinks I am a bit crazy, that I want a toy train so much, but I do: the sounds, the memories, the laughter, the fun. Back to the grief …

Then in my bi-weekly meeting with Frank James we spoke a bit about grief as well. We are about on the two year anniversary of his brother passing away on Mt. Hood. Frank, just wrote a piece on grief, which is a lot of what I feel and it was just interesting; to have two episodes where I am thinking about grief today. That doesn’t happen very often, at least for me. I think about my uncle regularly mostly when I think about my cousin, Kelly or my grandmother. I think about Frank’s brother not as often, this time of year always and then other times like then I think about landscaping, he was a landscape architect or when Frank does things that I wonder what his brother would think.

For the most part I don’t have much grief in my life. My one grandmother died when I was 13. I remember it vividly. Though the funeral and the process of that was traumatic, her death was not traumatic for me. My grandmother, mom-mom had cancer when I was little and it came back, with a vengeance so when she finally passed away, I was happy in a sense, which infuriated my aunt and my cousins. First of all, my mom-mom was a Christian and though she did not drive to church, mainly because she did not drive much, she did attend the Crystal Cathedral every Sunday. I do believe she was a member and she received the printed bulletins to follow along. The second reason I was happy for her is that in my thirteen year-old comprehension my mom-mom would return to her beloved husband, my pop-pop. He did when I was just five months old and though I did not know his I have always felt very connected to him. I know they loved each other dearly and I know she longed to be with him. Their reconnection would be heavenly and spectacular a separation that will never again for all eternity again happen.

Other than that and for a few friends along the way I have known little grief in my life. The grief of my grandmother and Frank seems unbearable and life altering, but at the same time it draws you closer to God. I definitely don’t long for the days, but know they are around the corner with my family getting older. I pray they stay away… longing for the days of my youth, carefree and wild, simple even.

Next time, I will start my story, since writers write and I would love to be that one day after all being published is on my bucket list. Oh I should blog that, maybe that will be next.