Some weeks are just characterized by the broadest spectrum of emotions, hey?
So it is for me with this particular round of Five Minute Friday.
If you’re new here, a huge welcome to you! Please excuse my mood swings — I’m not always like this. 🙂
Before I share the reasons behind the prompt and my extreme emotions, let me take a minute to make sure you didn’t miss these fun happenings over at Christina Hubbard’s place:
First, the What’s Your Groove? Writing Playlist link-up is live! You can still join the fun through September 30th!
Looking for some writing inspiration? Look no further! We’ve got a great variety of playlists already linked up, and would love to see yours!
Secondly, the countdown is on for the Third Annual 31 Days of Five Minute Free Writes!
Woo hoo! Who’s in?
Sound like a fun challenge? Learn more here.
And now, for the reasons behind this week’s Five Minute Friday prompt:
First, the most exciting reason of all:
That’s MONDAY, you guys!! Can you believe it?!
This book is a labor of love, carried on the shoulders of our dear Susan Shipe! Susan has put countless hours into this project, and I’m so grateful for her vision and patience!
I can’t wait for you all to see this beautiful tribute to the heart behind Five Minute Friday. This book is a wonderful representation of what we’re all about: A safe place for writers to gather around one word and write free and unedited. Just let your fingers fly.
Come back Monday for the link to order your copy!
I’ll share the second, more somber motivation behind this week’s prompt in my own five minutes of free writing:
Five years ago today, I got the call that I’d been dreading.
The call I’d been dreading for nine years since my mom’s first diagnosis.
The call I’d been dreading all my life, really.
Five years ago today, I rocked like a baby in the fetal position on the floor, letting my sobs seep into the wheat-colored carpet.
Five years ago today, I packed my newly purchased funeral dress into a suitcase, hugged my husband and kids goodbye, and boarded a plane in Cape Town to bury my mom.
A friend of mine was rudely lurched into the same chapter of this story less than two months ago.
I so badly want to be able to tell her that it gets easier with time.
And maybe it does. And maybe it will.
But the truth is, the tears still taste just as bitter 60 months later.
The pang is just as raw, the stab just as acute.
My grief still catches in my throat at the most unexpected times–driving down the road, standing in the pasta aisle at the grocery store.
You see, grief does not get stale.
Parts of me wish it did.
Grief does not grow stale, it doesn’t rot, doesn’t dissolve.
It’s more like the moon — waxing and waning, but ever present.
I have other friends who entered this story long before me.
Most importantly, I have One who went before and knows my sorrows more intimately than I know myself.
And He has gone ahead to prepare a place where He promises no more death, or mourning, or crying, or pain.
Because He paid it all.
Related post: My Love/Hate Relationship with Remembering
So grateful for each and every one of you! Your presence here means the world to me.
Happy writing, and have a blessed weekend, friends!
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