I had people tell me for years that I should start a blog,
but I always told them I didn’t know what I would write about. And honestly, I
didn’t feel like adding any more jobs to my plate, especially when I wouldn’t
be getting paid for it. But then something terrible and wonderful happened that
made me realize that my job as a writer isn’t really a job at all.
On February 21, 2012 I received the most heart-wrenching
text message of my life. It was from my friend, Joey. He was writing to say
that his sister, Theresa, who was in her second battle with leukemia, was
probably not going to make it through the day. She was 31 years old. He wanted
to write something up about her to commemorate her life. And he wanted me to
help him write it. I have never felt more terrified or honored in my life.
Shortly after receiving his text, I left work to drive home.
On the way, he texted me again to say that she had passed. As soon as I walked
into my house I collapsed on the floor crying harder than I ever have. I cried
because I didn’t want him to lose his sister. I didn’t want him shouldered with
that kind of pain. And I cried because I didn’t know how to write what he
wanted me to write. In no way did I feel
talented enough to do justice to this woman’s life that was clipped too short.
The task seemed impossible.
Three days later, I drove to Bozeman and boarded a plane
bound for Las Vegas for a birthday getaway I’d planned months prior. I sobbed
hysterically the whole drive to Bozeman. I felt torn about wanting to cancel my
trip and not knowing how or if I’d be able to write the eulogy. Throughout the
trip I kept calling my mom and two best friends saying over and over again that
I didn’t think I could do it. And they kept telling me they knew I could. Busy
with the funeral planning, I hadn’t heard back from Joey either on when we were
going to work on his piece so I just waited and prayed.
On my second day of being gone, I finally heard from him. He
said he would try to write up as much as he could and then email it to me to
expand on. In his very emotional state, he was barely able to write anything.
And having never met his sister, I didn’t know how I was going to manage. On my
Saturday night in Vegas I locked myself in my hotel room, tuned into the music
on my iPod, and sat down on the bed in front of a laptop I’d rented from the
hotel. The blank page never looked so daunting. For over three hours I sat
there crying and writing until it was finished. To this day I don’t know where
I found the strength to write that. But I think most of it came from God and
from knowing that Joey had trusted in me alone to do this important task.
I didn’t make it home in time to attend Theresa’s funeral.
And I didn’t get to hear Joey read what I wrote. Of all the things I regret in
life, those are the two that hurt the most. I’ll never forgive myself for not
being there. But as I looked out the small airplane window on the flight home
the same day as her funeral, I found some relief in knowing that a part of me
was there. I was present in the words that Joey stood up and read. And I think
perhaps, those words were even more important than my physical presence.
Almost one year after Theresa’s passing, my mom told me
about a writing contest in a magazine asking readers to write about the day
that changed their life. I didn’t have to ponder for even one second what day
that was for me. It was, and always will be, February 21, 2012. I only sat down
to work on the essay contest once. After about 10 minutes I was crying
uncontrollably and I knew I just wasn’t ready to write about it. I felt like a
failure because of that. But then a few months later, my old dance teacher said
something to me that I’ll never forget. She told me that I needed to do
something “Good” with my writing. And the moment she said that, I realized that
I had already learned one way of fulfilling that by helping Joey. It wasn’t
long after that when I got the idea in my head that I should start a blog. I
had no idea what I would write about. My goal was though was to write about
things that would honor the gift Theresa’s passing gave to me: the epiphany
that I am called to do something good with my writing.
Now, whenever I sit down to write, I always stop and ask myself
the question: does this piece strive towards doing something good….be it for a
cause, a person, or something else? And I never, ever start writing without
pausing in reflective prayer for a few brief seconds for Joey and Theresa.
I don’t know how many people read this blog, or whether any
of my posts have actually meant anything to anyone. But I like to think that
some good has come out of it. If nothing else, it has pushed me out of my
comfort zone with my writing and forced me to write about some hard
things….things that up until now I wasn’t able to write about. And it has given
me purpose and a better sense of direction with my writing. This blog is humble
and likely not read by that many people, but it has been a step towards
something bigger. And the first step in a long journey is often the most
important step of all.
