Tell Your Story Over and Over

When my 18-month-old daughter Erin died in 1990 I didn't think I would survive, nor did I want to. Remarkably, I have...and I'm glad. 

After she died, I told the story of her death over and over and over. Then I told it some more. I combed through the details of her last days with anyone who would listen. Her death was so catastrophically unbelievable to me...that, in retrospect, I believe I was trying to convince my very self that what I saw happen ~ actually happened. 

And in time...the day came (finally) when I no longer felt the need, nor the desire to retell the story. It exhausted me. I was tired of it. Instead, I wanted to talk about her life...in great detail...with those who lived it with me...and special new friends who would savor, and appreciate the pearls. I wanted to smile again. And I did.

Telling your story is one of the ways you heal.