Still writing

“Let me think clearly and brightly,” Sylvia Plath once wrote in her journal. “Let me live, love, and say it well in good sentences.” 

Turning grief into art has made me a much better and more recognized writer. In just the last three years I’ve had four poetry chapbooks published and I continue to write a poem and a journal entry every day.

Here is why it is so important to me.

Turning Grief into Art

I was 59 years old when my son, suffering with bipolar disorder, took his own life. Following an aftermath filled with guilt and grief, I made the decision to come out of that experience alive, whole, and productive. Instead of doing the expected: getting a divorce, having a breakdown or an affair with a beautiful younger man, becoming an alcoholic, or going into years of therapy, I chose to live and take care of myself as a woman, writer, wife, and mother.

The Essential Truth I Discovered

The truth is I was able to survive this tragedy. Even though the effects of my son’s death have never left my heart and thoughts, this tragic event provided some wonderful gifts.

• Paul left a little black suitcase filled with cassette tapes of the music he composed, played, and recorded. (His oldest and best friend transferred these tapes into CDs). Listening to Paul’s music was like having him playing here at home. And even though it still makes me well up, it provided an inspiration for my writing work.
• I became much stronger by sheer will. I met and interacted with people who had been through similar experiences; I was obsessively persistent in dealing with my grief and becoming a productive person again.
• I also became physically stronger. Exercise keeps me sane and healthy physically and mentally. And the payoffs have been terrific. My body is trim, I have an athlete’s heart rate, I have a lot of energy, I don’t have aches and pains, and I don’t have osteoporosis.
• My marriage survived by a combination of my drive to deal with the pain, suffering, and loss, and my husband, Bob’s willingness to wait until I got better. We realized early on that our grieving processes were different, so we were patient, we gave each other a lot of space, and we respected each other. A big plus is we didn’t worry about the small stuff anymore. A loss as great as ours put what was important into perspective. Most important, we were still very much in love and best friends. I could see that love in Bob’s face. His eyes and whole face softened when he looked at me, exuding love from every pore. This love was the glue that has kept us together—glue stronger than the trauma of Paul’s death. We were together in it for the long haul—richer, poorer, sickness, health, and a son’s death.
• I created a wonderful relationship with our surviving son and his wife. I now have a terrific bond with Ben. We spend time together. We support each other’s work—I’m even helping him with his scriptwriting. And that he and Marissa chose to have their wedding in our family home meant so much to me. That created a very special bond between us and provided a very happy memory to supplant the bad memories of the past years.
• Of course none of these gifts can replace what my family and I have lost—our beloved son Paul. However, discovering the gifts that followed such a tragedy has enabled me to move on and still keep Paul’s memory alive in my heart.

What Led to My Discovery of This Truth

First, I went back to work. I wrote grant proposals and led capital campaigns for nonprofits for awhile, and then I went back to the full-time job I had retired from several years earlier—as a technical writer and editor and proposal manager for a large aerospace company. This job provided the routine and socialization I needed—getting up at the same time every morning, dragging myself to the gym first thing, dressing in business attire, putting on make-up and doing my hair, and interacting with groups of people on the job every day. I thought about my work almost twenty-four/seven, leaving me no energy or time to wallow.

However, I still had enough time to hone my creative-writing skills. Instead of taking creative detours into drawing and painting, sewing, quilting, and needlepoint as I had done in the past, I went back to writing, a love I discovered in high school and college.

How This Truth Unfolded

I took writing classes and workshops, I got into the journaling habit, I began writing poetry to keep my son’s memory alive, and I created a memoir about living with my son’s illness and surviving his suicide. Leaving the Hall Light On that was released by Dream of Things Press. Through this process I found that writing became my therapy and a way of healing.

In a writing workshop I found that poems came spontaneously out of my pen. Since then I’ve honed my skills by participating in workshops and poetry groups, resulting in many of my poems being published.

Both poetry and journaling are still my companions and my saviors—things I can turn to any time, any place. I can put my grief and tears on the page. After a loss such as mine, writing has become a healing balm.

I also moved on to a career I’ve always wanted to have. Paul’s death gave me the gift of a new career and mission in life. I created a book with the goal of helping others who have experienced a loss like mine, I have a new writing career as a web journalist, I wrote a novel, and I discovered my mission for the rest of my life: to work to erase the stigma of mental illness and prevent suicide. If my writing helps attain that mission, it will all be worth it.