Grief was the catalyst to jumpstart my writing; sharing my voice with others has been proven to be the ultimate creative muse.

After losing both of my parents, I was broadsided by one rogue wave of grief after another - knocked down and pulled out into a vast sea of sadness, there were years when I felt as if I would never see land. I didn’t stand much of a chance against the fierce riptide that took me under and left me gasping for breath.

When my mom was teaching me to swim in the ocean, she said that if I ever got into trouble, I should swim parallel to the shore. And now she was gone, and I had forgotten how to swim. Every once in a while, I’d see a glimpse of blue sky or a mountaintop, and scream for help, but I was weak from the elements, and there was no lifeguard on duty. I was in trouble.

It was writing that pulled me safely to shore. It breathed new life into my depleted soul and gave me the strength to heal, helping to facilitate a gentle purging of emotions that had calcified through the years. My words became my savior, my confidant, and my comic relief.

I asked writing how I could ever repay it for saving me and writing simply replied, “Start writing.” And so, I did, one word at a time.