It’s early, the dark sky helps the street lights to reflect the drizzling rain on the window. Bright beads of moisture fall to the ground. I am a bit unsettled this morning, having just flown across the country to be with family and attend my grandmother’s funeral, my eyes are noticing every spec of detail that surrounds me. The beach painting on the wall and the plaques neatly lined up across the mantel. Photos from the 70’s and reed stalks standing at attention in the corner. I ask myself why they are there. Now, as I sit and type on a faster computer than mine, I accept that I am not in my warm, cozy den of a space. I am not home, which causes my senses to be on high-alert and decipher what’s around me. Though being here isn’t truly new, being that it is my family, it is more that we lost a cherished and adored woman and I don’t think we know what to do next. Her death is hard to make sense of.
That’s the beauty in writing. It is often difficult to make sense of the process yet as we live through it, developng space and characters, researching facts and timelines, marketing, reaching out, and all of the “stuff” that comes with it, as a writer, I embrace every little detail of it, liked or disliked. One thing that my grandmother taught me in life was to never sway from what you believe in. For me, I believe in every character that I write about, every scene that is created, or on the non-fiction side, every person that my professional background will help through my experiences that I can share in words. Before all of that, I believe in myself and I am grateful that I had a grandmother who believed in me too! When we face tough times and not-so-good moments, it is easier to get through them when we recall the easy times and those extraordinary happenings that we were blessed to be a part of. I will get through her funeral.