Pages of Prose

Quiet work

Today my small book, Frannie, Memoir of a Friendship, is published. I look at the congratulatory email sent to me from Amazon and almost laugh. A bot is my biggest cheerleader on this day. Then, I am reminded that I wrote this FOR myself – a tangible place for decades old grief, and what I have come to realize is in fact, trauma. Somehow holding the actual object in hand, seeing the type on the page, and the progression of events written down is important. Yes, it is healing.  As I grow old the sense of loss does not diminish, although the pain does. Life continues to be full. It holds it joyful and tender moments. Yet, sometimes, in between these a reminder of a phrase said, or the blooming of a flower transports my feelings to a to the time before loss. Only for a fleeting moment am I immersed in the past as present. Bittersweet.

All this to say, write about your loss, or you joy, or your anger. Bring it out from the shadows. Give heartache a home and then, continue with your life unencumbered by it.

Short read of a portion, “Encounter”

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Further reading:

Atlas, Galit, Ph.D., Emotional Inheritance: a Therapist, Her Patients, and the Legacy of Trauma. New York: Little Brown Spark, 2022. Print.