Telling the Story
Chapter 22: Secret weapons for getting unstuck
Have you ever gotten so caught up in mourning, you werenât sure youâd ever find your way out? I surely have. It had been four months since my momâs hit-me-like-a-speeding-train sudden death. I could have won an Academy Award for my acting, trying to convince the world I was dominating this grief thing.Â
At the time of her death I was on year twenty of my twenty-five year career with Delta Airlines. My favorite part of the Delta adventure was flying international trips, especially to Munich, Germany. Interacting with a jumbo jet full of strangers, and working alongside different flight attendants and pilots every week were sweet distractions from the sorrow. It was much less stressful to make small talk at Oktoberfest in my broken German, than to have a heart-to-heart conversation with someone who knew me. Work was an easy place to hide.Â
The most difficult days were spent at home, alone with my thoughts. Home is where the intense reality of grief got my full attention.Â
One morning, I remember feeling a nudge from the Lord to write about my mom. Write about her? Really? How cool, I thought. Iâd love to, but my mind is so foggy right now. Lord, Youâre going to have to help me remember things.Â
I started to write. The Lord gently brought recent and long ago memories to mind faster than I could write. For two solid hours, hardly moving a muscle, I scribbled life stories on the tear-stained pages of my prayer journal.
I wrote about the day she called me in my dorm at the University of Georgia, ecstatic that sheâd invited the entire Emory University Dental Fraternity to our house for Thanksgiving Dinner. We had a dental student friend from California, who was not able to go home for Thanksgiving. Why not invite him and all his handsome soon-to-be-dentist friends to share the holiday? I have no idea what the turkey tasted like that year, but do remember it was a heck of a fun Thanksgiving!Â
In my journal, I wrote every sweet, embarrassing, serious, and hilarious memory I could recall. As decades of stories filled the pages, I began to smile and even laugh through the tears. Thanks to the Lordâs whisper to write through the sorrow, my tears of sadness were slowly becoming tears of thankfulness for the rare and extraordinary woman we called Beazy.
How about you?Â
Do you have a place you can write your personâs story? You donât need an expensive journal. A spiral notebook like mine will work just fine. As you prepare to write. Think about a memorable story thatâs too important to forget, or the time that made you belly laugh, or maybe the coolest vacation ever.
While I donât know your story, I do know that remembering the people we love is one of the most beautiful ways to honor them, and for deep healing to begin.