Yet I, somehow, was propelled to write. Not just in my journal, but articles, poems, and essays. I didn't have energy to meet with friends, but I could sit at my kitchen table and put words onto paper. Ideas for articles filtered through me as easliy as waves topple the shore. I jotted outlines onto note cards while my toddler napped and and my eldest learned to read at her elementary school. I submitted some of my work to magazines and newsletters. When my first piece was published, I danced around the living room shouting to the sofa and walls, "Daniel, we did it!"
Often the phone rang as I wrote; I ignored it and let the answering machine take the call. Grief flattened my self-confidence, my purpose, and my faith. But writing kept me sane and motivated. Writing helped make sense of the senseless death of my four-year-old boy. The ability to express myself made me bold. Best of all, the connection I felt to Daniel as I wrote about him made my heart feel warm and hugged.
And then when another bereaved parent wrote to say my article communicated what she felt but was unable to form into words, I felt heard and understood.
~~ Alice J. Wisler believes in the power of the pen for healing, health, and hope. Join her on April 27th at the Hampton Inn and Suites in Raleigh for an all-day writing workshop, Weep Boldly; Write Bravely.
