Pat Bertram's Blog, page 286

What Do You Say to Someone Who is Grieving at Christmas?

Christmas is a hard time of year for those who are grieving. Not only does the festivity of the season remind the bereft of all they have lost, but it's a time for getting together with loved ones, and the goneness of that one special person seems even more unfathomable when you are alone or alone in a crowd.

Grief makes everyone uneasy. It's a reminder how vulnerable we really are. How, despite our beliefs, we know so very little of life and death. Even well-meaning people stumble around the bereft, suddenly clumsy in the face of grief, and this unnatural behavior makes the griever feel even more alone. Some people give looks of speculation, as if you are diseased and they're wondering if they should step away so they don't catch your illness. Or else they give you wrinkled-forehead looks of sympathy that make you feel even worse.

Shortly after the death of my life mate/soul mate, I noticed how uncomfortable people were around me, and how they wanted to say the right thing but didn't know what the right thing was, so I offered suggestions in What to Say to Someone Who is Grieving. I can see there might be a special concern about saying the right thing at Christmas, but the truth is, there is no right thing. Nothing you can ever say will bring the bereft what they most need: life to make sense once more. (That might not be what we most want, but it is what we most need.)

If you know the person huggingly well, the best thing is a hug. If you knew the deceased, share a story. "I remember how Bob loved (or hated) Christmas." Don't assume that by ignoring the dead you are making things easier for the bereft. We remember, and it's nice to know that others remember, too. One thing to never say is, "I know how you feel." You don't. You can't. Even if you had a similar loss, everyone's grief is different, every person is different, and by telling them you know how they feel, you are diminishing the truth of their grief. Also, don't pressure them to tell you how they feel. Grief encompasses so many different emotions, it's almost impossible to know how one feels. All you know is that you are in pain.

It seems such an emotional minefield, doesn't it? But, whether you are family, good friends, or casual aquaintances, there is something you can say, something that is so common and almost rote that no one stops to analyze the words. And still these words manage to convey exactly what you want to say. (In fact, leaving off these words may make the person even worse since they will know how uncomfortable you are with their grief.)

So, what do you say to someone who is grieving at Christmas?

You say, "Merry Christmas."

Tagged: Christmas, death, grief, grief at christmas, griever, life mate, soul mate

When You've Seen One Shopping Center . . . You've Seen a Mall.

I went to a mall today to do an errand for someone. This was only the second time I've been in a mall in over ten years, and I walked around in amazement. What did anyone want with any of that . . . stuff? What did they do with it? Why would they even want it?  I saw tons of things (several tons, actually) but not one item caught my eye.  That's not true. Two things caught my eye — a mannequin in a store window with a huge Christmas bow in place of her head and a sign outside another store that said: The entire store is buy one get one free. Such a great sale — if I had the money to buy one store, I'd get a second absolutely free!! Did that include the merchandise,  or just the name and empty shelves? Alas, I could find no answer to my query, only blank stares

The title of this blog post came from an email that's going around, and if you are another lexiphile (lover of words) like me, you will get a kick out of my punting this list around. (Did you catch my cleverness? Two word plays in one!! Kick and punt, and pun-ting because most of these are puns.) I can already hear your groans, either because you've seen these before, or because you haven't.

Lexiphile's list:

You can tune a piano, but you can't . . .  tuna fish.

A dentist and a manicurist married. . . . They fought tooth and nail.

To write with a broken pencil is . . . Pointless.

When fish are in schools they sometimes . . . Take debate.

A thief who stole a calendar . . . Got twelve months.

The professor discovered that her theory of earthquakes . . . Was on shaky ground.

The batteries were given out . . . Free of charge.

A will is a . . . Dead giveaway.

If you don't pay your exorcist . . . You can get repossessed.

With her marriage, she got a new name . .. . And a dress.

Show me a piano falling down a mineshaft and I'll show you . .. . A-flat miner.

You are stuck with your debt if . . . You can't budge it.

Local Area Network in Australia : . . . The LAN down under.

A boiled egg is . . . Hard to beat.

When you've seen one shopping center . . . You've seen a mall.

Police were called to a day care where a three-year-old was . . .. Resisting a rest.

Did you hear about the fellow whose whole left side was cut off? . . . He's all right now.

If you take a laptop computer for a run you could . . . Jog your memory.

A bicycle can't stand alone; . . .. It is two tired.

In a democracy it's your vote that counts; in feudalism, . . . it's your Count that votes.

When a clock is hungry . . .. It goes back four seconds.

The guy who fell onto an upholstery machine . . . Was fully recovered.

He had a photographic memory . . . Which was never developed.

Those who get too big for their britches will be . . . Exposed in the end.

When she saw her first strands of gray hair, . . . She thought she'd dye.

I wondered why the baseball was getting bigger . . . . Then it hit me.

Tagged: blank stares, email, lexiphile, mall, puns, wordplay

All the Elements of "Daughter Am I" Meld into a Life-like Drama

I don't often get fan mail, so when I do get a personal message, it really perks me up. And when I get a message like the following, it makes my day:

Hi Pat -

I have a confession to make, and this has nothing to do with the fact that you plan to read my book. No ulterior motives.

Normally I avoid buying/reading books by friends online because 80% of the time (a conservative figure) I find myself stuck with a real clunker, then feel frustrated as to what to "report" when the "writer" friend wants my opinion. I don't like being dishonest but, you know how it is. Underwhelmed is one thing, but having to read a bumbling, disjointed, retch-worthy error-filled story resembling an eighth grader's essay makes me nuts. So I tend to run the other way.

Discounting my modesty about my writing side, I will freely admit to being a terrific reader. No reason for shyness or modesty there. I know what I like and can tell the difference between the work of a hack and a real talent. Pat — you have talent.

I'm not sure why I broke my own "rule" when I bought Daughter Am I yesterday — but the book hasn't disappointed me. It's a great story. The characters are believable, identifiable, purposeful, & entertaining. The scene description is just enough — not undercooked or burnt to a crisp. And the plot moves, holds attention & makes the reader (me) anxious for more. You certainly understand how to make all elements of a story meld into a life-like drama. There you have it — my unsolicited opinion. I'm really impressed with Daughter Am I and thought I'd say so.

Have a great day.

These words brought tears to my eyes. That someone liked my book so much they felt compelled to write me was an unexpected and most gracious Christmas present.

Quite coincidentally, I am being interviewed on my publisher's blog today about this very book. If you'd like to know more about the novel and its cast of entertaining characters, please click here: Interview With Pat Bertram, Author of "Daughter Am I"

All my books are available both in print and in ebook format, perfect for holiday gift giving. You can get them online at Second Wind Publishing, Amazon, B&N and Smashwords. Smashwords is great! The books are available in all ebook formats, including palm reading devices, and you can download the first 20-30% free! 

Tagged: characters, Daughter Am I, description, fan letter, fan mail, writer friend

Rethinking Ways to Think About Grief — Part II

In yesterday's post, Rethinking Ways to Think About Grief — Part I, I discussed some of the opinions about grief mentioned in the Time Magazine article of January 2011 "New Ways to Think About Grief." Today's post continues my evaluation of that Time Magazine article.

Supposedly, researchers have identified specific patterns to grief's intensity and duration. (Sounds like "the stages of grief" all over again, doesn't it?) "And what they have found is that the worst of grief is usually over within about six months. In a study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology in 2002, Bonanno tracked 205 elderly people whose spouses died, and the largest group — about 45% of the participants — showed no signs of shock, despair, anxiety or intrusive thoughts six months after their loss."

First, you can't extrapolate a defining pattern of grief from 205 people, let alone a group of elderly people. Though there are some similarities in how those of us who lost a mate feel, grief is specific to each person. To make any generalities, especially with such a small group (and one that is not reflective of the population in general) is like telling us there are stages we go through when we know very well we didn't go through any stages.

Second, the age of the person who died affects your grief. One of the things that has driven my grief is that my mate died when he was only 63. I could not comfort myself by saying that he'd lived out his full lifespan. I couldn't comfort myself by saying at least he accomplished all he wanted. His dreams died with him. Another thing that drove my grief in the first year after my life mate's death was my age. I come from long-lived people. I might have twenty-five or even thirty-five years to live without him. If we were both old, then we would already have grown old together, but I am now left to grow old alone. I'm not saying the elderly don't grieve as much or feel as much as younger people. Nor am I denying that they have their own particular challenges to face. All I'm saying is that a study of elderly people has little relevance to the challenges the rest of us face. So much of my grief and that of my bereft friends stems from the relative youth of our mates and the long, lonely years stretching out before us, both facets of grief the elderly do not have to face.

Third, so what if 45% of the participants showed no signs of shock, despair, anxiety, or depression six months after their loss. That means a lot of people continued to suffer with these symptoms. And just because you've gotten over your shock and anxiety by six months, that does not mean you got over your grief. There are other facets of grief that do continue — bursts of grief, upsurges of sadness, missing your mate, yearning for him.

And Bonnano agrees: "That didn't mean they didn't still miss or think about their spouse, but by about half a year after their husband or wife died, they had returned to normal functioning."

As for normal functioning (whatever that is) — I do not know of a single person who lost their mate who wasn't functioning normally after a month or so. Generally, we functioned normally from the beginning. We felt our grief, we wept, we screamed, we cried out to our dead mates, but all of that was about relieving the incredible stress the death of one's mate, one's way of life, one's dreams, all put on a person's psyche. It was about making sense of the totally senseless. Coming to grips with how terribly gone the person is. But we continued to do everything we had to do despite how we felt.

Still, according to Bonnano's study, some people's grief left them earlier than other people's grief. (I wonder how much grant money he spent trying to figure out that little gem.) His conclusion was that some people were simply more resilient than others, and the resilient ones handled their grief better.

Resilient? Resilient? I'll tell you about resilient. While dealing with the horrendous loss of their mates, while still grieving well into their second year, women have travelled the world alone to honor their husband's dream. By themselves, they have closed up the house they lived in for twenty years and moved halfway across the country. They have put in irrigation systems, have finished building a house, have written books, have taken up painting, have gone back to school, have started businesses, have blogged about their journey. They have made new friends. They have worked to support themselves and their families, and to pay the bills their husbands left behind. They have welcomed grown children back into their homes, helped take care of newborns and elderly parents. All while dealing with active grief. These women sound pretty resilient to me!

The article continues; "Only about 15% of the participants in Bonanno's study were still having problems at 18 months. This small minority might be suffering from a syndrome clinicians are starting to call Prolonged Grief Disorder." Perhaps some of those 15% needed help, but perhaps some of them had an added depth to their grief that not everyone feels. Grief depends in part on how many roles your spouse played in your life, perhaps best friend, lover, companion, support group, home, business partner, teacher/student, the one person who understood you, the one person who loved you no matter what. If your spouse played a single role, and other people played other roles, then your grief is considerably less complicated. But if your spouse was your soul mate, and he played all the roles, then each role has to be grieved and processed. Which could take a lifetime, especially since the one person who could help you through your grief is the very person you are grieving

For a small percentage of grievers, there is an additional shock to the system. If you were deeply connected to your mate in some mystical way, then part of you went with him when he died. You feel the breath of the eternal, the awesomeness of life and death. You feel — or almost feel — the driving force of the universe. This is something we humans are not equipped to handle, and so we grieve. And we yearn. And we search for new meaning.

But this mystical aspect of prolonged grief is not one that shows up in any study.

Bonnano concluded "What we do know is that while loss is forever, acute grief is not." Sounds like a contradiction to me. Nowhere in the Time Magazine article, except for that last sentence, was there any mention of "acute grief." Because yes, there are variations of grief, perhaps even vague stages, just not the typical stages that have been rammed down our throats.

One final contradiction. The woman who wrote the article spent many words telling us that talking about our grief or going to grief support groups didn't help, but that "perhaps just the knowledge that our survival instinct is strong and that a great many people have not only endured terrible losses but also thrived can be a source of hope, something in scarce supply in our grief culture." That is exactly true. But without grief support groups, without talking about it, without sharing what we are experiencing, how would anyone ever know there is hope?

Tagged: death, grief, grief support group, Kübler-Ross grief model, loss, pioneer women, widows

Rethinking Ways to Think About Grief — Part I

A few months ago, another woman who had lost her mate and I were talking about how unstoic we've been about our grief. We cried when we need to, screamed it to the heavens, flung it into the blogosphere. We admitted to feeling a bit childish, because in earlier days, people just accepted death and moved on. We decided that if we had lived in an earlier age — pioneer times, for example — we might have acted the same as they did, but since we live in the times we do, we have the luxury of letting grief take its course.

This conversation niggled at me. How do we know pioneer women just accepted death and moved on? How do we know they didn't cry themselves to sleep when they lost a child or a their husband? How do we know they didn't scream their loss to the heavens or suffer a crisis of faith?

So much of what we know about earlier times is from men — probably sociopathic men who have no feelings or sense of empathy for another's suffering. (Not all sociopaths are serial killers. Some psychologists estimate that there are thirty thousand psychopaths who are not serial killers for every one who is. What makes a sociopath is lack of empathy, conscience, and remorse.) Most pioneer women didn't read or write. (Which could be another myth?) If so how would they ever be able to convey to future women (us) how they felt?

Last night online I tried to find out the truth about the way early American women grieved, not just as dictated by their societal and religious mores, but how they really coped.

I didn't find out much. Since grief is such an individual process, I would presume they grieved much like anyone today who has to work from morning to dawn. In other words, they found themselves crying at odd moments of privacy when no one could see them. Grief at the loss of a child or a partner is endemic. The show of grief is what changes from culture to culture.

In my online search, I came across an article in Time Magazine that had been published at the beginning of the year: "New Ways to Think About Grief." The article started out great, debunking Elisabeth Kübler-Ross's stages of grief. They agreed with what I've been saying all along, that what we bereft mostly feel is a yearning to see our loved ones again. The Kübler-Ross grief model doesn't hold true for most of us, and why should it? Those stages were conceived as a way of showing how people came to accept their own dying, not how people learned to deal with the death of others.

Then the article entered a gray area: One study of 66 people by George Bonanno, a professor at Columbia University's Teachers College who specializes in the psychology of loss and trauma, suggests that tamping down, not expressing, or avoiding negative feelings, known as "repressive coping," actually has a protective function.

Another 60 person "study conducted by the husband-and-wife research team Wolfgang and Margaret Stroebe of Utrecht University found that widows who avoided confronting their loss were not any more depressed than widows who "worked through" their grief. As to the importance of giving grief a voice, several other studies done by the Stroebes indicated that talking or writing about the death of a spouse did not help people adjust to that loss any better."

I don't know who those people in the studies are or how they were chosen. All I know is that in life and on the internet, every one of the bereft I have encountered found comfort in talking about their grief, or in writing a grief journal or letters to their mates. But what really helped all of us was listening to others tell their story. Grief is so isolating that it's important to know we are not alone. It's possible some of those people in the study weren't deeply connected to their spouse — not every spouse is a soul mate — and so it didn't feel as if they'd had part of them amputated. It's possible some of those in the studies had young families to care for. Like the pioneer women mentioned above, they would have no time for grief. It's also possible those in the study had large families or many friends to surround them with love and give them needed hugs. Those at the grief support group I went to were mostly alone and lost, with no one to hang on to. So we hung on to each other. That is the benefit of grief groups. The connection.

Interestingly enough, in not a single discussion, online or offline, did any of the bereft I encountered indulge in negative thinking. We were all trying to find a way through the morass of physical pain and emotional shock. We were bewildered by what had happened to us and our mates, and though some had unresolved issues with their mates, they never gave in to bad mouthing their relationship. It was all about the love that once was there and now is gone.

(This rant of mine was so long, I'll post the other half tomorrow.)

Tagged: death, grief, grief support group, Kübler-Ross grief model, loss, pioneer women, sociopath, widows

Ten Things I Know to Be Absolutely Certain

Every time I publish a new post to this blog, I get suggestions for topics from WordPress. One such topic — ten things I know to be absolutely certain — caught my attention several days ago, so I started making a list. This is as far as I got:

1.

2.

3.

For a week now, that list has been sitting by the side of my computer. I can't think of a single thing I know for absolutely certain.

I used to be enamored with particle physics and quantum physics. I loved that everything could be broken down into smaller and smaller particles, until you ended up with a particle that acted like a wave or a wave that acted like a particle or some such, and then if you broke that wave/particle down into further components, you ended up with . . . nothing. Which to me means that the universe was created out of nothing, not just way at the beginning with what some people call the big bang, but that every single day the universe creates itself out of nothing. So how can one be certain of anything when nothing exists? Whether any of this is true or simply my own bizarre extension of an already bizarre idea, I have no way of knowing, let alone knowing to an absolute certainty.

I'm sitting here at my computer, with my elbows on the table, wondering if there is a certainty about that, but since all solid matter is mostly air — the particles that create the atoms that create the molecules that create the table are so far apart as to be bits of dust floating in empty space. Yet somehow my brain translates those particles into the table and my computer. At least I think it's my brain that does it; I don't know. I can only assume I have a brain. I have never seen it. I think and feel, but perhaps those thoughts and feelings don't exist either — they could be brain blips, things my brain tells me are real for its own nefarious reasons.

And what about me? Do I exist? I listened to a pod cast the other night where a biologist explained his theory that what differentiates us one from the other is not our brain or a soul somewhere deep inside, but something from without. Eternal energy, perhaps. Specific rays of energy that are beamed into our body/minds like television signals into a television channel. A fascinating idea, but it's only that — an idea. Not something anyone knows for certain.

I took a walk in the desert today. I could feel the warm air, smell the drying cresote bushes, hear the ravens overhead, feel the ground beneath my feet. For a moment or two I was not a separate being walking in the desert — I was connected to it in so many ways that it seemed we were a single entity: desert/woman. And that could be the truth — our bodies do not end in a hard barrier but extend beyond our cells to where there is an overlap with our environment — with something that is not us. Or maybe it is us. Maybe we are everything and everything is us.

Okay — now I know one thing for absolutely certain. I spend too much time alone walking in the desert. Where else would such mystic ideas come from?

Tagged: desert, do I exist, mystic ideas, nothing, particle physics, quantum mechanics, WordPress

"A Spark of Heavenly Fire" Embodies the Essence of Christmas

Washington Irving wrote: "There is in every true woman's heart a spark of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the broad daylight of prosperity; but which kindles up, and beams and blazes in the dark hour of adversity." As I read these words several years ago, I could see her, a drab woman, defeated by life, dragging herself through her days in the normal world, but in an abnormal world of strife and danger, she would come alive and inspire others. And so Kate Cummings, the hero of my novel A Spark of Heavenly Fire was born. But born into what world?

I didn't want to write a book about war, which is a common setting for such a character-driven story, so I created the red death, an unstoppable, bio-engineered disease that ravages Colorado. Martial law is declared, rationing is put into effect, and the entire state is quarantined. During this time when so many are dying, Kate comes alive and gradually pulls others into her sphere of kindness and generosity. First enters Dee Allenby, another woman defeated by normal life, then enter the homeless — the group hardest hit by the militated restrictions. Finally, enters Greg Pullman, a movie-star-handsome reporter who is determined to find out who created the red death and why they did it.

Kate and her friends build a new world, a new normal, to help one another survive, but other characters, such as Jeremy King, a world-class actor who gets caught in the quarantine, and Pippi O'Brian, a local weather girl, think of only of their own survival, and they are determined to leave the state even if it kills them.

The world of the red death brings out the worst in some characters while bringing out the best in others. Most of all, the prism of death and survival reflects what each values most. Kate values love. Dee values purpose. Greg values truth. Jeremy values freedom. Pippi, who values nothing, learns to value herself.

Though this book has been classified by some readers as a thriller — and there are plenty of thrills and lots of danger — A Spark of Heavenly Fire is fundamentally a Christmas book. The story begins on December 2, builds to a climax on Christmas, and ends with renewal in the Spring. There are no Santas, no elves, no shopping malls or presents, nothing that resembles a Christmas card holiday, but the story — especially Kate's story — embodies the essence of Christmas — generosity of spirit.

(Why does A Spark of Heavenly Fire begin on December 2 instead of December 1? Glad you asked that. All through the writing of the book, I kept thinking: if only people could get through the first fifty pages, I know they will like this book. So finally came my duh moment. Get rid of the first fifty pages!! With all the deletions and rewriting, I couldn't make the story start on December 1 as I'd originally intended, but that's okay since it didn't end on December 25 as I had hoped. The story overgrew it's bounds, but the symbolism still held since it ends around Easter.)

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Spark-Heavenly-Fire-Pat-Bertram/dp/1935171232/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_4

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1842 (You can download the book in any ebook format, including a format for palm held reading devices!! Even better, you can download 30% absolutely free to see if you like the story.)

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/spark-of-heavenly-fire-pat-bertram/1100632312?ean=9781935171232&itm=2&usri=pat+bertram

Tagged: A Spark of Heavenly Fire, bioengineered disease, Christmas, Colorado Christmas, Pat Bertram, spirit of Christmas, the red death

Grief: Counting the Days, Weeks, Months

When you first lose a significant person in your life, one whose death rocks your world to its very foundations so nothing will ever be the same, it's as if your internal clocks reset themselves.

At first, you count the hours you've lived since he died, then, after you've survived twenty-four or forty-eight interminable hours, you being counting the days. Eventually you move on to counting weeks, months, years, and even decades. To the uninitiated, this counting seems as if you're dwelling on the past, constantly reminding yourself of your sorrow. But the truth is, it's a recognition of life — your new life, the one that was born the day he died. It also tells your fellow travelers where you are on this terrible journey in the same way your age tells people where you are in life's journey.

When I talk about Saturday, my sadder day, and mention how many sad Saturdays I've survived, it's not the number that makes me sad. Nor is it the day that makes me sad.  It is the onset of sadness that makes me realize what day it is. The sadness is a subconscious, visceral reminder that I once loved, once was loved, once shared my life. Since I now count my grief by months, I often have to check my calendar to find out how many Saturdays I have mourned/celebrated that shared life. The number is merely a street sign, the name of a crossroad so others know where I am in relation to my grief. I don't need the number. I know where I am — I can feel it.

I used to worry that I was putting myself in a bad light by all this talk of grief, that I might seem weak or even pathetic, but the more clearly I see this journey for what it is — not just resetting your internal clock but resetting your life — the more I understand the importance of showing the truth.

We live in a civilization that reveres positive thinking and positive thinkers. We admire people who bear their sorrow with a smile, who swallow their tears and talk brightly of their future. Perhaps they are admirable, perhaps they are in denial, perhaps it is their nature. But it puts an intolerable burden on those who have to push their grief deeper inside so that no one faults them for it.

We need people to show us a way to grieve, to show us their pain and their healing; otherwise, how are we to know what is the truth of grief? So often, the bereft feel they are crazy because they've never seen/read/heard of anyone who experienced such symptoms as theirs. We're so ingrained into believing that Kubler Ross's stages are the blueprint for grief, that anything else is abnormal. But in my experience (talking to others who have lost their mates), her stages are mere blips in the spectrum of grief. Other stages are much more prevalent: physical pain (not just emotional), bewilderment, yearning, seeking. And counting.

Counting isn't really a stage. It's more that we are aware of the ticking of our internal clocks, the clocks that were reset on the day he died.

Tagged: counting the hours, death, grief, grief model, internal clock, loss

Growing into the Woman I Am to Become

In a previous post, Maiden/Mother/Crone — The Mythic Stages of a Woman's Life, I talked about living my mother stage first. I was the oldest girl in a large family, and by the time I was five, I could cook simple meals, clean house, do laundry, feed babies their bottles, and change diapers. By the time I was eighteen, I'd changed more diapers than most women do in a lifetime.  Then, in my middle years, I reached the crone stage. Crones care for the dying and are spiritual midwives at the end of life, the link in the cycle of death and rebirth. A few years after I met the man with whom I would spend the middle third of my life, his health took a turn for the worse. I wasn't much of a healer, but I was a stayer — I stayed with him until he died. I also helped out when my mother died. I'm now staying with my 95-year-old father, helping him to be as independent as he can be during his final years.

When this part of my life's journey, this crone stage, has played itself out, the only stage left for me is maidenhood. According to Lisa Levart, author of Goddess on Earth, the maiden aspect of the Goddess is symbolic of new beginnings, youthful enthusiasm, independence, and a time when a girl is growing into the woman she is to become.

Who is this woman I will become? I already know she will be patient. I know she will be forward-looking, leaving all her "if only"s behind. I hope she will be bold and adventurous, able to embrace new beginnings, youthful enthusiasm, and independence. Most of all, I hope she will be spontaneous.

Life with someone who is chronically ill destroys your spontaneity. You have to be practical, and you have to plan, taking his limitations into consideration.  You can try to take time for yourself, but so often the constraints of his illness rule your life.

Two or three years before my life mate/soul mate died, he told me he regretted that he killed my spontaneity. He loved that I had been so spontaneous, and it saddened him that I became captive of the regimens he needed to follow to keep himself as healthy as possible. This declaration surprised me because I had never considered myself particularly spontaneous. To be honest, before I met him, I'd always been a bit careful — not timid, but not carefree, either. Meeting him brought such a surge of energy into my life (he was radiant, back then, glowing with health and happiness) that I felt emboldened to try new things. I'd never seen the point of life (though I spent my youth searching for meaning), and I never really felt comfortable in the world. After I met him, I thought that if he were in the world, it must be a wondrous place. (This was before we ever got together, before either of us realized there was an "us.") His radiance, faded and ragged though it may have been at the end, still lit my life, and now that he is dead, so is the light. And once again I'm searching for meaning.

To honor him and the life we shared (and to honor myself), I plan to be more spontaneous. (Did you smile at that wording? So did I. Old habits are hard to break.)

Spontaneous, bold, adventurous, enthusiastic, and independent. I can hardly wait to grow into this woman I intend to become. (But what will become of that woman I become? Will she be too old to make a difference? Ah, but those are questions for another day.)

Tagged: crone, death, life's journey, maiden, mother, mythic stages of a woman's life, searching for meaning

Introducing Joylene Nowell Butler, author of "Dead Witness" and "Broken But Not Dead"

[image error]Someone left a comment on my blog the other day, then apologized for intruding where he didn't belong. This worried me. I wondered what I had done to make anyone feel unwelcome. Then it occurred to me that I have made so many friends here that perhaps it seems like a private blog. When you talk about the important things in life (writing, grief, life itself) you connect quickly, even though the commenters might live in such mythical places as Canada, New Zealand, Australia, and Georgia (USA).

Joylene Nowell Butler was one such commenter who has now become a friend. We have never met, might never meet (though I would like to), but the connection is very real. She eased a terrible time in my life with her wisdom and sympathy, with her steadfast presence. I'm ashamed to admit, I am remiss about returning the favor and visiting her blog, A Moment At A Time On Cluculz Lake, though I intend to get over there more frequently. She has insightful posts, wonderful guests, and gorgeous photos of Cluculz Lake in Canada.

Joylene is the author of suspense thrillers Dead Witness and Broken But Not Dead. In honor of our friendship and the publication of her second book, I am gifting her with a mini blog tour.

I am interviewing her today on another of my blogs. Click here to find the interview: Pat Bertram Introduces . . . Joylene Nowell Butler, Author of "Broken but not Dead." I always enjoy hearing (seeing) how other authors view writing and the writing life. Don't you?

Click here to read an excerpt from: "Broken but not Dead" by Joylene Nowell Butler

More than three years ago, I posted an invitation to interview characters, and she was one of the few who took me up on my offer. It impressed the heck out of me! (That was how and where we met.) Here is that interview: Pat Bertram Introduces . . . Valerie McCormick, Hero of "Dead Witness" by Joylene Nowell Butler

Click here to read an excerpt from: "Dead Witness" by Joylene Nowell Butler

Thank you for everything, Joylene. I hope you have a fantastic New Year, filled with hope and peace and many wonders.

Tagged: "Broken but not Dead", Dead Witness, Joylene Nowell Butler, thriller