It was on May 15 2013 that I finished the last page and closed the cover of the book I had been reading. I looked out into the ocean and thought for a bit. Then I spoke aloud to my husband “I think I’ll write a book”. His response “I think you should”.
It had been just 50 days since I had lost Mom. My husband, Dave, had brought us to one of our favorite spots in the Dominican Republic, The Barceló Bavero Beach in Punta Cana. Before we left for this get away, Dad had bought me a book to read. It was a story written by a popular journalist about herself and her Mother, who had Alzheimer’s. While it was very good, making me cry and laugh at different times, it wasn’t our story.The author wrote her story, but she either hadn’t reached the final days or she had decided not to share them. My pain was still exposed and tender having witnessed the life and death of my dear Mom with the same illness.
My family had just walked through the last months, weeks, days, and minutes of our Mom’s life. We were still in shock and grief.
Our story also included our Christian faith. The truth, the mystery, the believer’s conviction and our dependence in God through this insidious illness was missing.
And so I said, “I think I’ll write a book.”