Is It Legal to Split Treats in Half? Dogs Want to Know!

We love our pets! They add fun and love to our lives. Creatively, someone came up with what dogs would search for on the internet if they could get their paws to hit the keyboard.

This search history has been making the rounds on the internet and each time I see it, I laugh. My husband printed it out and I have it by my computer. My favorite one is Is It Legal To Split Treats in Half? and perhaps, I like this one because as a two-boxer owner, I do split dog treats in half.

So here's to our dogs and their inquisitive minds!

Take a Walk among the Dead

The saying is that nothing is certain but death and taxes.

Benjamin Franklin was the one who gave us this quote when he said, “Our new Constitution is now established, everything seems to promise it will be durable; but, in this world, nothing is certain except death and taxes.”

We don't like to talk about death. This surprises me because death is something we are all going to experience. Yet, we get fearful when the topic comes up. So we push it aside. When my four-year-old son Daniel died, people were far from engaged when I told them about him.

I didn't want to have a reason to visit the cemetery where Daniel is buried. But over time, that changed. Over the decades, I've grown to see the beauty of the flowers, oaks, birds, and even geese, and experience the peace that is present. There's much to observe about cemeteries. Here are some of the things I've observed.

The cemetery teaches us not only about death, but about life. We realize life is short and unpredictable. How do we choose to live this life?

The cemetery is reality. We will die one day. We don't know the day or time. We've lost loved ones over the years. What have they taught us? How would they want to be remembered?

The cemetery has messages to glean on the tombstones. One of my favorite tombstones is where a man named Solomon is buried. The words inscribed on his stone are from 2 Timothy 4:7: I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.

The cemetery is sacred. Many who have died there are people of faith and, as the Bible states, they have eternal life. Their bodies or ashes are buried, but they are alive in Heaven with Jesus. When you focus on that, it's enlightening.

The cemetery emphasizes calm and quiet. The dead don't speak. You can walk and even pray at your own pace and be in silence. No one will interupt you.

The cemetery gives inspiration. My family spent much time on the grassy lawns having picnics and tossing the Frisbee. Being there helped me write my grief and loss memoir, Life at Daniel's Place.

Don't be afraid to walk among the dead. Bring your notebook and pen. Stay a while, observe, breathe deeply, and learn.

Chocolate Chip Cranberry Bread For Valentine's Day

Chocolate Chip Cranberry Bread

Ingredients:

• For the Dough:

o 3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

o 1/2 cup granulated sugar

o 1 packet (2 1/4 teaspoons) active dry yeast

o 1 teaspoon salt

o 1 cup warm milk (about 110°F)

o 1/4 cup unsalted butter, melted

o 2 large eggs

o 1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

o 1/2 cup dried sweet cranberries

• For the Topping:

o 1/4 cup chocolate chips (for sprinkling on top)

o 1/4 cup chopped nuts (optional)

• For the Glaze (optional):

o 1/2 cup powdered sugar

o 2 tablespoons milk

o 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Instructions:

1. In a large bowl, combine flour, sugar, yeast, and salt. In a separate bowl, whisk together warm milk, melted butter, and eggs until smooth.

2. Gradually add the wet mixture to the dry ingredients, stirring until a soft dough forms. Gently fold in the chocolate chips and dried cranberries.

3. Knead the dough on a floured surface for about 6-8 minutes until smooth. Place it in a greased bowl, cover, and let it rise in a warm place for about 1 hour or until doubled in size.

4. Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C). Punch down the dough and shape it into a loaf. Place it in a greased loaf pan (larger than 9x5) or into two smaller loaf pans. Sprinkle the remaining chocolate chips and nuts on top.

5. Let the dough rise again for about 30 minutes, until it rises above the rim of the pan.

6. Bake for 30-35 minutes or until golden brown and the bread sounds hollow when tapped. Allow it to cool in the pan for 10 minutes before transferring it to a wire rack.

7. For the optional glaze, mix powdered sugar, milk, and vanilla extract until smooth. Drizzle over the cooled bread.

The Boxers Who Made Me a Dog Lover

Just wanted to share some photos of these three boxers--Levi, Bella, and Harley. They have won my heart! Sadly, Levi (posing near the sidewalk and dancing outside with Bella when she was younger) is no longer with us; he died December 2020, but he is forever loved.

Larger Than Pocket Faith

Pockets are for car keys,

mints and tissues—the kind my grandmother used to store

Wider pockets for a letter, a wallet, a grocery list

Carrying, containing, safe-keeping



How many times I have looked

Wanting to find God inside my pocket

To fit my plans, my thoughts, my ways, my desires.



Creator of the Magnolia tree, the worker bee,

God of miracles, the Red Sea parting,

God of the stars and moon and depth of valley



Why do I insist that my pocket could contain your magnitude,

harbor your excellence and reduce your glory to fit me?

Weary, I come to you to beg



Living Word, Sovereign, Faithful, Almighty God

Gift me larger than pocket faith

Save me from myself.



~Alice J. Wisler (First published in Foreshadow on 6-16-24)

Even on a Deserted Island . . .

Have you ever wondered why grief catches you offguard?

Recently, my husband and I watched one of Celine Dion's concerts on TV, and after the last song, I felt this tinge of sorrow. No stranger to sorrow, I was aware of the tinge. Because I'm the type that labels my tears and emotions, I asked myself why I felt sorrowful. What was this sudden onset of an ache in my heart? Was it due to the song Celine Dion sang at the end, My Heart Will Go On?

Perhaps that was it, I concluded. I smiled at the two photos on the mantel of Daniel, my four-year-old who died from cancer treatments in 1997. The song, along with the movie that made it famous (Titanic) came out shortly after Daniel's death. My eldest daughter and her friends sang it at a family and friends event the first Christmas without Daniel. I recalled how I had listened to every word and couldn't hold back tears.

It must be that song, I decided after my husband turned off the TV. After all, no signifcant date like Daniel's birth or death date was approaching. Christmas was over six months away.

It was days later when I stood in the upstairs hallway that I found the reason why I had been sad. There on one of the walls hangs the bear and quilt painting I had purchased at the Raleigh flea market days before Daniel's birth. When a vendor asked when I was due, I'd said, "Yesterday." Daniel was late arriving and sat on my sciatic nerve, making it painful to walk. I placed the watercolor in the room we had decorated while waiting for his arrival.

Across from the painting is a curio cabinet I bought after Daniel died. In it are some of his favorite toys---airplanes, Matchbox cars, and a collection of tiny books we read to him in the hospital. Next to the wooden cabinet is the plaque a cancer organization gave us after donations were made in Daniel's memory. In the nearly twenty years that we have lived in this house, I never realized the significance of the wall sharing an item I bought before my son was born and one I bought after he died.

While that was one of those aha-moments, the real aha came when it hit me why this was a tough week. Sunday was Mother's Day! We'd be celebrating with family and my three children. And, once again, Daniel would not be with us. Why had I not connected the dots? The first Mother's Days since his death, I had been keenly aware of how bittersweet the special day would be. Now twenty-seven years later, I was surprised the days before Mother's Day could cause a pang of sadness.

I've often said that a mother could be on a deserted island without a calendar and yet still know that a significant day surrounding her deceased child was approaching. You cannot hide from it. That's how tightly looped mamas and the holes in their hearts are.

This is grief. And we grieve because we love.

Express yourself! Pick up your pen!

If you see someone with an opened notebook and pen in deep thought, you might think he or she is writing the next great novel. But the truth could be, the person is writing for health.

Writing for health? What does that mean?

When we suffer a loss --- either the death of a loved one, a broken relationship, a firing from a job, a financial crisis, or a diagnosis that is difficult --- our minds and bodies are affected. We often cry and want comfort.

As the situation continues, we look for ways to help us cope with the magnitude of our loss. We can feel isolated because no one understands the full picture of what we are going through. There are times we don't understand it all either. Our grief is unique and we are new to it. We know we have to manuever through, but how is this done? Our days feel sad and desperate.

This is when writing enters the scene.

Writing is a healthy way to unleash pent-up angry, sadness, and other emotions friends, family, and coworkers might not care to hear. The emotions have to go somewhere, and putting them onto paper is a lot healthier than yelling, slamming the door, or kicking the cat.

When we write about the heartaches, the pain flows from our hearts onto paper. This eases the anguish, even if only for a while. We've shared our emotions and ponderings with paper. The paper carries a portion of our sorrow for us.

Studies have shown the beneftis of writing for health. Dr. James Pennebaker conducted a study among students at the University of Texas that proved expressive writing lowers blood pressure, pulse rates, and provides better health all around.

So the next time you have to deal with a major---or even minor---sorrow in your life, get a good notebook and pick up your pen and write! You will be suprised at what your heart wants to convey and encouraged as clarity and calm spring forth through your written words. If you're smart, you'll spend ten to fifteen minutes each day writing. The important factors are to not worry about spelling, penmanship, or whether you will be judged by your emotions. No one has to see your words. The notebook is for you only. Discover how picking up your pen leads to a healhier life as you journey through your anguish.

~*~*~*~ Join us for the Weep Boldly; Write Bravely Writing Workshop, Saturday, April 27th at the Hampton Inn in Raleigh, NC.

Chocolate Sandwich Cookie Recipe

Ingredients

6 Tbsp butter, softened

2/3 cup granulated sugar

1/3 cup cocoa powder (I use Hershey's)

1/4 tsp baking powder

1/8 tsp salt

1 egg

2/3 cup all-purpose flour

1 recipe for filling (below)

1. In a bowl, with a mixer, beat the butter on medium for 1 minute. Add the sugar, cocoa, salt, and baking powder. Beat until combined, scraping bowl as needed. Beat in egg. Beat in flour until dough comes together.

2. Spoon dough onto a large piece of plastic and wrap into an 8-inch line. Wrap the long sides of the plastic tightly over the dough. Roll dough gently over the countertop while twisting the ends until it is a smooth, uniform log approximately 1 3/4 inches in diameter. Freeze for 1 1/2 hours until it is firm enough to slice. (Or chill for 4 to 6 hours.)

3. Preheat oven to 325 degrees F. Line 2 cookie sheets with parchment paper. If necessary, reshape log to make it evenly round. Using a sharp knife, cut log crosswise into 1/8-inch-thick slices. Place slices 1 inch apart on prepared cookie sheets.

4. Bake until edges are firm, 12 minutes. Cool on cookie sheet 2 minutes, then remove and transfer cookies to wire rack. When completely cool, fill with filing of your choice.

I used a butter-powdered-sugar-vanilla and vanilla cookie wafer and crushed almonds filling. I didn't have any freeze-dried raspberries on hand. But the original recipe has a raspberry filling. I think as long as you use butter and powdered sugar, you could add whatever you'd like.

Raspberry Cream Filling Recipe:

In a medium bowl beat 1/2 cup softened butter with a mixer on medium until creamy, 1 minute. Beat in 1 cup powdered sugar and 1/2 tsp. vanilla. Add 2 to 4 Tbsp. very finely crushed freeze-dried raspberries. Add more powdered sugar to form the consistency you like. Pipe or spread the mixture evenly onto the bottoms of half the cookies, 2 tsp. each, and then top each bottom with a cookie, bottom side down onto the filling. Gently press together. Makes 18 sandwich cookies.

When Love and Laughter Play the Tune

It's those tapes that want to ruin our lives.

When we've lost a loved one, the tapes of the last moments play in our heads like a broken record that never stops its scratchy noise. The music is the worst we've heard---loud and grating. There is no off-button. The noise is made up of our thoughts that cause us to contemplate the last words spoken by ourselves and by our loved one. We think of how it could have gone differently and how if it had, our loved one would still be alive. Over and over we ask, why did it have to end this way? If only . . . . If only I had taken him to the hospital earlier. If only I had watched him more closely. If only I had known more about the disease or his friends or the event where he was in danger. We scream into the night. We think the constant-playing tapes will kill us. Exhausted, we want to shut off our minds.

As we go over in detail the last moments with our loved one, we want to believe the moments could have been orchestrated differently.

Control is the loud tune that plays in rhythm with If Only. The two work together. We have been led to believe that we have control. We think it is ours. We wore our seat belts and ate our vegetables, were kind to our neighbors (even the nosy ones) and bought toys for our children. We shouldn't have to be going through this confusion, this ache, this despair. Our loved one should still be here with us. Instead, we are now living a life without him or her and wondering how to face each day. For whatever reason, we have bought into the myth of power, control, thinking we could play God in our lives. We ignore the soft voice that asks, "Did you get to choose your place of birth, or height, or color of your eyes?"

To try to make sense of our confusion and illusions, we journal. Page after page, we fill them with questions like: How long does this pain last? When will I get back to the old me? For help, we read the lives of others who have been on the bereavement journey. We marvel at their survival and at the same time wonder how they have done it. Can we do it? Can we journey year after year without our child, our spouse, our parent, our friend?

We put the journals and books aside, and go back to the If Only and Control. Over and over the frantic tunes play as we continue to live the last days. While the re-living the last days seems detrimental, the truth is, it is necessary. It's called process. Our brains need to process what has happened to us in our loss. Eventually----and I don't know how long eventually is---the tapes wear thin. We forgive ourselves, we realize control is a myth, we realize it is not up to us to have control over when someone takes his last breath. We acknowledge we are not God. We may never understand why our loved one died when she did or the way she did. We may never get the answers we want on this earth. But one thing we know, until our last breath, we are going to have to figure out how to make this bereavement journey work.

On a day where the sun pushes past the clouds, we hear the laughter of our loved one. As we drive to work, we recall a road trip with our significant other. In the parking lot, we remember a joke our son told. The laughter feels strange to our ears. A smile expresses the memories we carry in our hearts. The next day we may be back to listening to the If Only tapes, but once again, on another day, a fond memory slips through. She did like to bake oatmeal cookies, he did give the best hugs. And we trod on the journey, clouds and sunlight, dreariness with glimpses of hope. And we are progressing. Day after day, we embark on the rocky path, finding our footing, discovering what we need, learning and growing.

And one morning, we find ourselves thinking: Maybe I will survive. Maybe, perhaps, I might even thrive again. And in the meanwhile, we savor the laughter and the love. They are what fit inside our hearts; their tunes are worth carrying and playing over and over again.

What We Never Lose

I always think, "the wound won't be as painful this year," and I am always reminded that love never dies and missing my son is part of who I am.

Weep Boldly; Write Bravely --- A Writing Workshop Just For You --- Watch the Video

Want to know more? View this post that has sign-up details by clicking here.

Weep Boldly; Write Bravely --- A writing workshop in Raleigh, NC

Excited to announce the next grief and loss writing workshop!


Weep Boldly; Write Bravely


Navigating Grief through the Gift of Writing

April 27, 2024

All-day Writing Workshop

9:30 AM to 3:30 PM

Hampton Inn and Suites Raleigh NC

111 Hampton Woods Lane

Join us for an inspiring workshop where we explore the healing power of writing in times of grief. At this in-person event, held at The Hampton Inn and Suites at 111 Hampton Woods Lane, Raleigh/Cary, NC, USA, we'll delve into the depths of our emotions and learn how to express them boldly through the written word. Led by author, bereaved mom, and grief-writing advocate, Alice J. Wisler, this workshop will provide a safe space for sharing stories, finding solace, and embracing the therapeutic benefits of writing. Whether you're a seasoned writer or just starting out, this workshop will help you navigate the challenging journey of grief with courage and creativity. Don't miss this opportunity to weep boldly and write bravely as we embark on a transformative writing experience together. Lunch and coffee breaks are included.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ So, folks, it's been a few years since I've facilitated an all-day writing workshop to help those in grief and loss discover the benefits of writing. I enjoy these workshops so much, and feel it's time for one to be held in 2024. And, guess what? We have a date, time, and place. There will be a dive into what grief and writing through it entails, what to write and not write, tips on expressive writing, making your writing the strongest it can be, learning from each other, and silent time to freely write without distractions. I hope to see you there!

REGISTER TO ATTEND


PAYMENT

Send $70.00 payment via Paypal (use PAYPAL link below), check*, or send using Zelle to awisler3@gmail.com

Who is this for? Those who want to write from sorrow and trauma for healing, health, and hope

What will we do? We’ll discover how to express our thoughts onto the page; instruction from author and grief-writing advocate, Alice J. Wisler

What’s included? Coffee, tea, chocolate, lunch, instruction, and handouts

What to bring? Pen, notepad, and creativity

* Make your check to Alice Wisler for $70. If you sign up with a friend (you both need to acknowledge and pay together), the cost is only $67 each.

Mail check to:

201 Monticello Avenue

Durham, NC 27707

Pay NOW with PAYPAL to get The Early Bird Special.

No refunds or cancellations. Feel free to email me at awisler3@gmail.com with any questions.

Watch the video to learn more about the workshop--

Write Bravely! An All-Day Writing Workshop 2024

So folks, it's been a few years since I've facilitated an all-day writing workshop to help those in grief and loss discover the benefits of writing. I enjoy these workshops so much, and feel it's time for one to be held in 2024. The plan is to find a venue where we can meet and spend the day together, writing, sharing, and learning. Since I'm in Durham, North Carolina, I'd like to have the event in either Durham or nearby Raleigh or Chapel Hill. The day will start around 9 AM and end by 4 PM. There will be a dive into what grief and writing through it entails, what to write and not write, tips on expressive writing, making your writing the strongest it can be, learning from each other, and silent time to freely write without distractions.

Interested? Email me at awisler3@gmail.com to let me know of your interest and to keep up with the updates as the workshop location is disclosed, etc.

Watermelon in the Bathtub

Our family was—and still is—enthusiastic about fireworks. There was a time David even slipped in some illegal in North Carolina, the kind purchased across the border in his state of South Carolina. Every Fourth of July, we sat on our lawn in anticipation. David stood yards in front of us on the street and lit the torpedo buzz, the rockets, all the funny-sounding popping crackers. We cheered and clapped and buried our faces in ripe slices of watermelon.

July 4, 1996, Daniel was in the hospital having his monthly chemo injections. Our celebration of our nation’s birthday would have to be held inside Daniel’s hospital room. Daniel looked forward to watching the fireworks, hoping his hospital room window would provide a good view. But a nurse informed us there wouldn't be fireworks from Kenan Stadium that night; the reason was unclear.

Daniel bounced back from his disappointment when friends Sue, and her twelve-year-old daughter, Becca, entered the room with a watermelon and a knife. "We came to celebrate July Fourth with you!" said Sue in her vibrant Rochester, New York, accent.

Sue cut slices for each of us and served them on paper plates. Becca placed a plate on Daniel's tray table.

Daniel dipped his mouth into the fruit. With juice running down his cheeks and chin, he took another bite. He found a black seed and, facing Becca, spat the seed toward her and then, grinning, waited for her reaction.

She laughed; he filled his lungs and cheeks with air and let out another. It landed on his sheet. Our family comes from a long line of watermelon-seed-spitters. Mom had won contests, but it looked like Daniel needed some tips from her.

After the two left, Daniel said, "I think I've had enough watermelon." He lay on the bed, comically rubbing his tummy and grinning.

I looked at the half-consumed treat. It was too big to store in the fridge in the communal kitchen down the corridor. "Where can we put it?" Where did other patients keep their watermelons?

I'd read the thick binder about Daniel's medications and various procedures, but nowhere in any of the literature was there a section about proper protocol for taking care of leftover fruit.

"How about in the bathtub?" Daniel said.

What a great idea! "Why not?"

And so, we did just that.

[The above is an excerpt from the memoir, Life at Daniel's Place, by Alice J. Wisler. Get the book here.]

Photo Op at the Cemetery

On Saturday, Carl, our pup Bella, and I went to Daniel's Place. I thought it would be a good time for a photo op with my new memoir, Life at Daniel's Place. There's a large box tucked inside my bedroom closet, and from it, I pulled out a few of Daniel's things---a stuffed dog he received as a gift during one of his many hospital visits, a beach sandal, and a plastic fish from a game he played. While those items had never been to the cemetery, the Thomas The Tank Engine beach towel has shared many visits to the grave with me. Spread out, it serves as a soft area to sit.

I got thinking about what going to the grave does for us. What do the living gain from being surrounded by gravestones and memories? Over the years, I have found the time there to hold many emotions. But recently, my hours spent under the oak by Daniel's tiny marker, are serene, calming, and refreshing. Bella runs the grassy hills and gets her exercise. Carl makes sure she doesn't knock over any flowers.

Inspiration is another word that comes to mind. There's always a breeze by the oak, even on hot days. As the leaves rustle, words form, and when I look over the vast sea of graves, I'm reminded life is short. My priorities align at the cemetery. My vision is focused. Do what you are called to do. Now.

So what's my memoir about? Read on, and when you are finished, I hope you'll want a copy of Life at Daniel's Place.

Are you grieving a loss? Do you feel no one understands your broken heart? How should a mother of faith deal with tragedy?

When 36-year-old Alice lost her son Daniel, she doubted a graveyard could ever offer tranquility. At first, she wanted to run from the cemetery because it symbolized that Daniel, her four-year-old son, was gone. Being at the grave filled her with shame, guilt, and doubt. Gradually, thanks to geese, picnics, helium balloons, and epitaphs, the cemetery, named Daniel’s Place by Alice’s family, became a haven of discovery and beauty. Life at Daniel’s Place is the story of a mother’s heart transformed from fear to certainty and confidence. Alice’s reflections remind us that a renewed faith in God is possible and welcomed, even amid trauma. While grief lasts a lifetime, God's love and presence is always constant.

ORDER Life at Daniel's Place at Amazon or, if you live in the USA, send a check to me for $20 for your own signed copy. The yellow fish is not included. :-)

Send to: Alice Wisler

201 Monticello Avenue

Durham, NC 27707

Giveaway! Comment after reading to get a free e-book, Life at Daniel's Place

Hey, readers, please read this article I wrote and comment below. Everyone who comments will get a free e-book. The e-book is my most recent release, Life at Daniel's Place: How The Cemetery Became a Sanctuary of Discovery ahd Gratitude. In order to get an e-book, you need to leave a comment, plus your email (where I can send your free e-book). Or send me a message at awisler3@gmail.com with your email address. No email, no e-book. This "deal" ends August 31st, so read and leave a message now. You can comment on what I wrote, what you agree with, disagree with, etc.

~*~*~*~*~*

Why Do We Cliché Grief?

Have you heard me shout at the TV lately? I have been known to do this.

It's those journalists and actors that cause me to shout whenever they use this line: Sorry for your loss. You might think I'm just being ornery, but I have my reasons. I'm certain the remoteness of that phrase begs for alternative words—words that are enveloped in thoughtful compassion.

Twenty-six years ago when my four-year-old son Daniel died, empathizers aimed to console me. Sentiments included: “I’m so sorry to hear this,” and “How sad,” and “I can’t imagine.” I don’t recall the cliché sorry for your loss being popular back then. But I do remember how I felt after a salesman stood at my front door and remarked with a sense of joviality, “You son is having that big party in the sky!” Shocked and numb, I wondered how in the world he felt it was okay to laugh at a mother over the loss of her child.

Years later, when I wasn’t as fragile and had adjusted to bereaved life and the odd things people say, a co-worker grieved the death of her mother. She told me that this phrase, Sorry for your loss, made her angry. “Why should someone tell me he’s sorry? It’s not his fault my mother died. There’s nothing for him to apologize for.”

So what are we supposed to say? When introduced to someone for the first time, protocol has us tell the new person, “Nice to meet you.” It’s harmless to quip these words. Society expects them even if we don’t feel them.

Yet when it comes to bereavement, we are operating from a different and distinct set of emotions. The person before us has lost a loved one to death. There is sadness, even perhaps regret and remorse. Learning that someone has lost a beloved should require a heartfelt sentiment.

“Sorry for your loss” is used because society has said it’s a safe thing to say. Sometimes when people say "I’m sorry" I wonder if what they really mean is sorry that I asked about your child or spouse or mom. Sorry that you have made me uncomfortable as I am brought face to face with my own mortality.

We are afraid of death. The fear of death sits at the top of most people’s lists. We want to push aside the reality that death happens, ignoring funeral homes and cemeteries when we drive by. We also fail to understand just what loss is. When a woman’s husband dies, it’s not that she lost him like she lost a set of keys or an address. A relationship on earth is over. A spouse goes from being a living daily companion to a collection of memories. Love doesn’t stop once a loved one dies. Love continues and the partner who is still alive has to adjust and adapt to the rest of her life without him.

Mental Health Professional Jamie Cannon, writes: “Instead of expecting grief to disappear, expect yourself to learn how to live around it, through it, and despite it.” If we accepted that grief does not come and go, but stays with us, perhaps we could learn how to dig deeper into our emotions and offer words of empathy that are not said as though we’re reading off a cue card. Can we allow ourselves to think what if it were my mom, my friend, or my child who just died? What would I want said to me?

Months after my heart had been ripped apart from the loss of my son, I drove my six year-old daughter and a new friend to an amusement park. I wanted Rachel to know that sharing about her brother’s death was acceptable. So as I drove, I told Caitlyn that Rachel had lost her brother from cancer treatments. After I finished, in a voice full of compassion, this nine-year-old said, “That is so sad. You will always have a hole in your heart.”

I wanted to stop the car, jump out, climb into the back seat and give Caitlyn a hug. I wanted to call this child's mother and tell her what a terrific daughter she had. But I didn’t want to embarrass my daughter so I kept driving. That hole in my heart had been acknowledged; I felt comforted and cared for. I was even able to smile.

Perhaps what our society lacks is the ability to get close enough to empathy. Instead of working so hard to protect ourselves from fear we need to just jump in and offer a hug, a listening ear, even a few words to admit, “I don’t know what to say, but I am here.” There might be moments that are awkward. But a caring heart shines through. A rote line does nothing.

I know that not everyone has the thoughtfulness and compassion of a nine-year-old. But I wish they did take the time to learn.

Leave a comment below to get a free e-book, Life at Daniel's Place. Want a paperback? Hop over here.

Prologue: Life at Daniel's Place

Weeks after the governor shut down North Carolina due to the coronavirus pandemic, I put on a pair of tennis shoes. It was a Sunday in April, yet my church held no services. Since I couldn't go there to worship, I drove across town to Markham Memorial Gardens. People feared the virus, but fear was nowhere on the rolling lawn dotted with grave markers and tall Carolina pines. The dead can't get Covid. And I can't get the illness from them. As I drove, I smiled at my dark humor.

But my humor evaporated once I faced the white wooden fence at the entrance. My eyes blurred with tears. The tears, which I'm a fanatic about labeling, were not tears of sorrow, hurt, or pain. They were those special tears cried when we know someone has cared for, looked after, and loved us, even when we didn't realize what was happening. My spirit had come to this place for safety, but not from Covid or our country's looming troubles. Long before news of the virus and the shutdown, this corner of the world had become my secure haven and respite.

As I walked the circular driveway, passing the familiar gravestones and landmarks, flashbacks played through my mind. Here, I had once wanted to die, before my healing had begun.

Four years into my grief, I was invited to facilitate a writing workshop. Sascha, a poet and bereaved mother who had lost both her children— the youngest to drowning and the oldest to suicide—asked me to fill in for her at a conference in Denver, Colorado. She was ill and needed a substitute. I was instructed to share how beneficial writing from heartache is. As I stood at the podium before forty bereaved parents, I knew writing helped me. But did others find it therapeutic? I introduced some writing prompts and was pleased when parents stood to read their poetry in memory of their son or daughter.

After I made it through the workshop—where I hoped no one had noticed my insecurity from being a novice—one of the event volunteers approached me. I thought she was trying to make me feel good when she said, "Alice, there was a lot of healing going on in that room." I had no idea what a room of healing looked like.

Decades later, I know. I know how a grassy landscape of remorse becomes a sanctuary of discovery and gratitude. I know how God takes our most profound agony and replaces it with his joy. I know how pouring pain onto paper transforms pent- up anguish into hope. I have experienced how a mother lacking confidence dared to seek fulfillment. This did not happen over weeks; it took years.

The cemetery welcomed me that Sunday in April. True, the dead were still silent; they could no longer share their opinion, ponder, or rush to be anywhere. For them, what was done was done; it was over. As for me, I still had a course to run— peace to absorb, ideas to wrestle with, lessons to invite, and healing to embrace. Gratitude for the quiet landscape rich with my history filled me; I started to sing. I belted out one of my favorite hymns, repeating the first verse six times because that was the only verse I knew from heart. “Our God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come, our shelter from the stormy blast, and our eternal home.”

And that is another pleasure of being at the cemetery: the dead don’t complain.

Read it all! Get the memoir here!

Life at Daniel's Place --- The first part of the journey to getting a book out there

The road to publication is a long one. If you have a literary agent that lands your manuscript with a publisher, most likely you have waited a number of months for this deal to transpire. By the time your book is available for sale, you’ve experienced the process of deep editing, cover design, and marketing.

My first novel, Rain Song, was accepted by a publisher (Bethany House) two months after my literary agent sent my manuscript to them. Oh, happy day, when I got the phone call! I was going to finally, finally, have a book published! Then I had to wait 20 months (that’s not a typo) before my debut novel was published. The waiting was long. During that wait-time, I started this blog.

This time, with my memoir, Life at Daniel's Place, I decided to pass the whole agent/publisher process and publish on my own. Here’s where I have to be honest, this manuscript of mine has never been sent to an agent or a publisher. I have, after much prayer and thought, decided to independently get my book out to the masses. In the past, I’ve published three memorial cookbooks on my own, so I know a little about the work involved. For the stuff I don’t know as much about as I need to, I turn to the Internet and the gurus who can help.

I hired an editor. I think every good book needs an editor . . . or two. A book is only as good as its editor, someone to get the commas in the right place and check for inconsistencies. Publishing houses either have their own in-house editors or hire freelancers. There are masses of developmental, copy, and line editors out there, as well as proofreaders, ready to be hired. And that's a good thing because they are needed. It’s hard to catch every mistake when it’s your own work. Another pair of eyes does wonders.

I sort of worked backwards with this book. But I have often not followed the "rules". I created the title, then the cover on Canva, and then wrote the back cover blurb. I set a date for publication, hoping that would motivate me to write the content. Actually, I have so many files pertaining to a story about my son Daniel and our family, that it was really a matter of selecting which scenes to include. The dream for this memoir has been brewing for years.

So, this is my quick update about my newest book to arrive this summer. I plan to write more about this journey as time goes on. Thanks for reading!

Being Prepared and Unprepared

The invitation to be a guest on a podcast arrived in my inbox. I accepted. I was sent the time and date for the taping as well as a list of questions regarding the death of a child, writing, and grief. All topics I was familiar with---like breathing.

But when Claudia, the Being Well Informed podcast hostess, emailed me moments before the show was to start, she told me this was a webcam interview. No over the phone stuff. Her segments were both on YouTube and on her podcast streaming service. I gulped. I was not prepared to be presentable for her audience. When my devotional came out, my publisher was big on setting me up with various radio stations for over-the-air interviews. I could be dressed in anything, have my hair in five different directions and still be able to talk over the phone. After Claudia told me that my interview was going to be showing my face, I asked her to give me a couple minutes. That was after I thought maybe we should just cancel the whole thing. I went upstairs to comb my hair, add some lipstick, and jewelry. A woman needs her earrings!

The next decision was what I was going to have as my background. Back in the days when we had Zoom Sunday School classes I sat at the pub table in our kitchen with the lime-green pantry door behind me. But Carl was in the kitchen frying kielbalsa for Jambalaya and that sausage does not have a quiet sizzle. I was not familiar with the video recording service that the hostess told me she was going to use but I knew I needed my laptop and an uncluttered background. I flew into my daughter's mauve and pink bedroom (what used to be her bedroom; she moved out years ago) and worked on the logistics. I placed the computer on top of a tall stack of cardboard packing boxes. The bedroom has become a storage area where packing supplies for Carl and my online business are kept. I shut the door while our dog, Bella, breathed on the other side. I hoped she wouldn't bark. The minutes ticked away as I checked the lighting, turned on a lamp, and the ceiling fan. I made sure the walls were free of cobwebs. I found a chair and sat. When I logged into the video service, I was greeted by the awaiting hostess, and the interview began. I was late; but I made it.

What a treat it was to be asked questions about grief and the benefits of journaling for dealing with the loss of a child. What an honor to be on Claudia's show! And isn't this just like so much of life---we think we're all set and ready, when really we aren't. Much of life is scrambling around. Adapt and adjust----I've been doing it for 25 years since Daniel's death.

There are two ways to listen to the interview---with a video or without. Of course, I hope you will listen via the podcast link, but if you want to see me seated in front of a mauve door and pink wall, watch. :-) Here's the video - A Parent's Survival Tools When Losing A Child.

Here's the podcast of the same segment.