Tags
creativity, grief, literature, personal, writer's block, writing
My big brother Peter died 15 months ago. Sounds like such a long time when I say it like that, but somehow the memory is still painfully fresh. He was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer 10 weeks earlier, and that was all it took – 10 weeks from diagnosis to death. Not nearly enough time for me to get over my shock and have any real appreciation for what he was going through, let alone work out how I could cope with it. So I concentrated on practical things: flying into Brisbane every fortnight and staying long weekends, going to appointments with him. I packed up my house and was moving down to Brisbane to help care for him but he died suddenly, 2 days before I got there, way sooner than any of us had expected.
The funeral was blur, then instead of grieving the big brother who’d always been there for me, all of my life, I focused on my mum who had longstanding health problems because I didn’t want her to die too. Peter had been living with mum for thirty years, since dad died, so I knew she’d take his loss badly. She’d not only lost a son (unthinkable enough) she’d also lost her companion. I couldn’t comprehend that kind of loss, so I didn’t try. I just moved into her house, cleared out my brother’s things and started the long process of settling his estate while I tried to prepare mum for life without him.
It didn’t work. She died 5 months later despite a huge effort by all our remaining family members to support her. She was frail and hiding her grief. Also hiding the fact that when no one was looking, she wasn’t eating… anyway, another funeral. This time the combined shock just seemed to numb me. I took comfort from the fact that every day, women all around the world are losing their mothers. I knew we were all trying to cope with the terrible severing that occurs when the one person in the world who loves you unconditionally is gone.
Just as I had when my brother died, I took refuge in keeping busy, sorting through hundreds of ornaments and photos and vases, boxes of embroidery cotton and knitting wool and dress patterns she hadn’t looked at for 40 years. She’d lived in the same house for 62 years, and for every Christmas of my life I’d sat at her table for Christmas lunch: when I’d been single, married, a mother of two, single again and then a grandmother. So much of my life sitting at that kitchen table.
The thought that I’ll have my first Christmas Day somewhere else was incomprehensible, yet somehow we all managed it. My 30 year old son hosted Christmas lunch at his house for the wider family and without mum and Peter it was impossibly strange, and so awkward it hurt my heart. We kept telling ourselves Next year will be easier. Next year will be better. And maybe it will. I hope so.
I’m coming up to 18 months since I stepped away from writing, and after 20 years as a published author, writing full-time, that’s hard. The stories that used to buzz around my brain with chattering dialogue and steamy emotions are gone – for so long now that I almost forget what it was like to live in those fictional worlds.
I’m not depressed. Rather the opposite – I’m trying to live the rest of my life because my brother didn’t get to. But I don’t have any impulse to write, and I don’t know what to do about that. It’s been so much a part of my adult life…I’m not quite sure who I am without it.
A writing teacher, mentor and manuscript assessor. Yes, I can still do that and I’m getting better at it all the time. But the year I stopped writing I had three of my Husband Series novels shortlisted in the Australian Romance Readers’ Association Top Ten Erotic Romance awards. So shouldn’t I get back to that?
I don’t know, and a decade ago I could not have imagined thinking that. I was so sure I knew what life was about and what I was on the planet for. But now I don’t. Life has slowed down into coffees that last all morning, conversations with loved-ones that feel pivotal and taking the time for self-care: eating, sleeping, tending the garden.
Perhaps this is the business of grief, now that my role as the executor of two estates is over. Time is the healer, and to do justice to the love that has been lost, I seem to be taking that time, lingering over life as if it’s a book I’m not ready to put down. Examining small details. Allowing a space between thoughts. Listening instead of talking all the time.
Is this normal? I don’t know. But it seems to be heading in a positive trajectory, rather than the opposite. And whether it ends in me writing again…well, I hope so. My characters were always so real to me that I miss them as if they were friends on holiday. I’d like them to come back. I want to share their highs and their lows, but I’m not promising anything. All I can do at this stage is stay with each day and give myself the best chance I can to get back to those worlds.
Time willing…
Dear Louise, What a huge journey you have navigated, one that no heroine ever envies but, yes, one which they all eventually face (just generally not two blows so quickly). You are a wonderful woman and an awesome author. The sacred time that you take right now (& in the future) will lead you into the next chapter of your journey. Whatever that chapter, I know it will be amazing – just like you and your heroines.
Thanks Cher. I’m hoping all our journeys lead us back to our creativity. That would be a a great outcome.
I’m so sorry for your loss Louise💙My dad died ten years ago and for me everything shifted. My grief was strange in that my first born son was ten months old and kept me so busy I didn’t feel I had the space to grieve in the ways I thought I would. I started to ask really big questions about why we are here and what our purpose is and that ultimately led me to writing. I now write in order to try and figure out the world. I actually feel this is a gift my dad gave to me💙 Whatever your journey is it will be the right one, just follow your heart and in the meantime enjoy those long coffee mornings and connecting with those you love💙💙💙
Thanks Michelle. I’m so glad your pain led to you writing. It’s such a catharsis. I’m really looking forward to finding it again.
Wise words. I don’t think there is anything to be gained by forcing yourself to go back to writing if that’s not where your head is at. Take your time – grieving is a long process and it can’t be rushed.
Thanks Janel. I didn’t grieve at all when my dad died 30 years ago, but I understand so much more about life now. And of course I’m blessed to be living a life where I can take the time, and don’t need to rush out to a job every day. I don’t take that for granted at all. I’m very lucky to be able to give grief some space to come in and do it’s work.
Thank you so much for sharing Louise. There are no easy answers and platitudes don’t help. You can only do what feels right for you; exactly what you’re doing. Love and blessings. Gail
Thanks so much Gail. As a writing mentor, if I had a client in my situation, I’d say “Sometimes life intervenes. Just take this time to fill your creative well and when life settles down again, that’s the time to get back to writing output.” I’m trying to take my own advice.
That is very good advice, Louise. Other aspects of life certainly intervene in a writer’s life. This is a very big bump in your life, and I compassionately wish you an easier road as time passes.
day at a time.
It is Janice. I don’t think too far ahead, which is lovely in itself. Lots to be grateful for.
Louise, I knew something was wrong but guessing didn’t reveal the trauma you’ve been through since the loss of both your brother and your mother. I’m so sorry. Also, you can’t get into that place mentally where you can produce the most marvelous flowing narrative! Deep breath.
I write from a similar position… a writer who has lost something precious. It’s been 3.5 years now since Dad died and, like you, I’ve tried to write something and there’s nothing there. The good news is that this week I’m back at editing and writing more into my characters of Riverina Bluebells. My new book is shelved for the moment as I gradually work my way back to it. Even though I’m still caring for Mum, at least she’s not sick or suffering. My energy is not my normal energy still. But I’ve been surprizing myself with pages and pages of writing in a spiral bound book this week. It’s been easier than using a computer, which is odd for me. Maybe the tactile difference is what I needed to get back into writing again. I’ve heard you say that writing something is better than writing nothing but I’ve only just been able to achieve this. Like any exercise, it’s tough to get back into it when you’re depleted of mental strength but it’s something I intend doing little bits of each day until I am comfortable and focused again. Goodness knows how long grief takes.
When a parent dies, one becomes unhinged from something safe and reliable but that’s not the physiological side of things in my experience. Every part of me wanted to fix things, to carry on as normal knowing Dad had suffered terribly, and I wouldn’t logically have wanted him to open his eyes to a new day ever again in order to suffer more. No. Logically, I tried to carry on.
Writing is starting to flow, as you can see by this long message! It’s a gift to be able to write a long story, to get to know the characters like real people, to live their existence even if it’s in the 14th century. But to do that, I need peace of mind. I need to be able to get deep into my consciousness. It’s that depth which you cannot achieve just yet, Louise, but I’m sure you’ll get your mojo back sooner or later. It’s not impossible but we have to allow ourselves time to grieve. Sending hugs and the offer of a coffee if you’re out this way. x
Thanks Jill. I’m so sorry about your dad and the effect of his death on your writing. I’m heading back up to my beach outside Bundy soon and that will no doubt bring a measure of peace. There’s nothing like listening to the sound of the ocean to soothe the psyche. I’m hoping I’ll be back to writing soon, but in the meantime I’m assessing manuscripts so that’s helping me to still feel like a writer!
So sorry to hear of your double loss. Our sincerest sympathy to you, Lynn and Graeme
Thanks Lynn, and please give my best to Graeme. I hope you guys are going well up north?
Dear Louise
The last time I saw you your brother had just passed and it was a terrible shock to all. So sorry to hear now about your mum as well. It is never easy to resume your normal routine after such a big loss. In time, maybe, you will have the urge to put pen to paper again. I certainly hope so. But for now just see how things go. Love and thoughts to you. Donna
Thanks Donna. At first I thought it was good to have a hiatus after 20 years of full-time writing, but it’s going on a bit too long now! Hopefully I’ll have my mojo back soon 🙂
What a beautiful post, Louise. You take all the time you need. Your well is filling up. When it’s full again, then you can decide how to be creative. We can get a little lost in our writer’s world and taking time to just live and be and observe is the best thing we can do for ourselves and our writing…even if it only a distant possibility.
Thank you! I’ve been thinking about how I can be creative, even if it’s not writing. A couple of years ago I worked with a computer game company to help them with ideas for the world building of their fantasy game, and that was so much fun. I’d love to do that again.
Louise please accept the hugs I am sending down the line as my remedy for your loss .I have always loved your honesty and assistance. I predict a lovely memoir about your family
Thanks John! Much appreciated.