Forgive me Father, it's been 11 days since my last post.
Yes, it sounds like confession, but really it isn't, it's just the first thing that popped into my head. Day 25 was the last day I wrote my novel. That was the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Monday, I can't even remember much of. Tuesday I'll never forget.
Last Tuesday, November 27th, I headed downstairs to my corner office at 6 am and started my morning pages this way:
"Good Morning Morning Pages. It's Tuesday. Tuesday. Not just any Tuesday, but the Tuesday of all Tuesdays. It's definitely Tuesday. I'm worried about Mom. I haven't heard from her in a few days..."
Little did I know - or is it that I knew exactly - that in about 17 hours two police officers and a clergy would show up at my door, confirming the fear that I had been carrying for days. Mom had died. It's now been 9 days since the "Tuesday of all Tuesdays", and while the shock has faded ( I no longer shake and feel cold all of the time), my heart still hangs heavy in my chest. Not all the time, but it hurts still - and even now. I miss her. Plain and simple. I selfishly feel robbed, but grateful that she can finally have the pain and exhaustion free existence that had been eluding her for 12 years.
The day after the Tuesday of all Tuesdays, the thought entered my head that there is no possible way I can write my novel now. And even as the thought was going through my head, the still voice that sits in the corner patiently told me to not be so hasty. That it's ok to feel that way right now, but at some point, I'll feel differently. My issue was the premise of the story. It is centered around death and what happens afterwards. The day after learning my Mom had passed away, alone in her house, the idea of writing a fiction adventure about death seemed sacrilegious. Or at least down right awful.
My characters respectfully took a leave of absence, they knew better than to intrude on my grieving process. I might lash out at them. Days passed, I cried less often, and at some point Jenna came back, peeking her head through the doorway. She didn't say anything just peeked in, quietly sat down and tried to be invisible. Jake came in shortly later. They didn't say anything for days, just watched me.
Ok, yes, this sounds crazy, but indulge me, will you? It's honestly the way that it feels to me.
Anyway, my characters are being very respectful, giving me time to heal. They know I have my own journey I have to face right now, but I also know that they are growing impatient. They are, after all, teenagers. Weird thing is, I was on a website today, looking for probate lawyers through my work's Employee Assistance Program, and I saw a tab for Scholarships. Feeling like I'd rather look at scholarships and avoid the task of researching a lawyer, I clicked on the tab. And then the most amazing thing happened. Jake was there. Remember when I was creating my characters and I said that I searched for their pictures on Google? Well, apparently the guy, my Jake, who's picture I found on Google, must be a stock photo model or something because he was on that scholarship page. I don't believe in coincidences. That was nothing short of amazing.
And it's not like I was still stuck on the idea of not finishing my novel, I knew I needed to. I need to finish for me. I need to finish for my husband, my kids, my family and friends who have been so supportive. And definitely for Mom. I fear the swift kick in the butt brought down from heaven if I don't follow through and do what is in me to do.
So what I'm saying is this: I hear you Mom. I hear you Jenna and Jake. And I hear you, Great Creator. I will finish my novel. I can't promise I'm going to be able to write nearly every day, at least not right now. But I do promise to write it with honestly, with an open heart, and with the best of my abilities. I do this with honor.
Thank you.
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