Written several years ago for my friend, Cheryl Luke’s Blog, this blog speaks to my heart this morning. I don’t have all the answers, but I know one thing, I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Even if that keeps me from drowning in negative thinking for one minute, I am content. I hope the post will provide hope for someone who needs to hear the truth of who they are from God’s perspective.
I just completed the draft of my memoir. Writing about my father brought the pain and sorrow to the surface once again. With Father’s Day approaching this weekend, I want to revisit a post I wrote two years ago. Perhaps my words will comfort other survivors who struggle with the celebrating Father’s Day.
The Covid-19 virus has upended everyone over the past few weeks. While the new normal creates havoc for nearly everyone, I’ve realized a hidden impact for trauma survivors. With each new restriction comes less control over my life, which triggers old fears and sometimes anger.
Grief is a strange thing. It is dynamic and strikes when I least expect it. I rarely think of upcoming anniversaries, but grief lurks in the shadows ready to surprise me when I see a memory pop up on Facebook or when I hear one of John’s favorite songs. The moments of grief don’t last long and I accept them as part of life. I miss John but would not wish him to come back because I know he is walking with God and enjoying conversations with the saints.
Writing a memoir is not easy. Over the past several weeks I have learned a great deal about the little girl who endured so much at the hand of those who should have loved and cared for her. The chapters of the memoir are told through the eyes of a child, but as the adult on the other side of the trauma, I feel compelled to write short reflections to that little girl to encourage and uplift her.
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