For some, death is sudden and devastating. For Johnnie and me, it was preceded by a long walk through a dark valley that served to entwine the cords of our heart together. It was a period of grace like no other and my only regret is that I did not embrace the life in each and every moment we were given. After my husband's death I began to write as a way of releasing the pain of mourning. I discovered that we are never really prepared for loss. Death happens in an instant and is irrevocable in its finality but memories remain and become both our consolation and our distress. We struggle to hold on to these fleeting images lest we lose this last, precious fragment of the one we love. We are at war with our own selves. The intellectual part of us knows that we must step into the future but reason is sorely outmatched by the emotional part that refuses to move on without our beloved. Somehow, we must make peace with our new normal while finding a way to store these memories, like irreplaceable treasures, they must never be forgotten. Writing became that outlet for me, a shelf of sorts; a place to display the beauty of a joy that once was and release the pain of the reality that now is. More importantly, writing became my saving grace, the place where God met me as I made the journey out of my valley of sorrow and into the place where the heart knows that He, truly, does all things well.
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