​     This morning, I was given an hour to tell my 33-year long story –from beginning to end. The group had watched bits and pieces of my story through the media – now they wanted it all - the entire background to the story. Thirty-three years is a long story, but I did it. 
      In the last few weeks, I’ve spoken to four groups. The first presentation was writing as a healing exercise.  The next was how to write the “unacceptable story” – this is actually a six-week course. The third was on “prophetic writing" - how can we activate the spirit in our writing exercises? This last one was to a church group who meets in a renovated garage. 
    ( By the way, I love the idea of a renovated garage because we are in the middle of transforming our garage into a studio. It is taking forever with all kinds of unexpected twists and turns - like building permits. So it was just good to see how one can finish a project. Beautifully done!) 
      Anyway, at this last group, I knew that my assignment was to inspire forgiveness, survival, and prayer through the telling of my story which I have always loved to do.
      So I did that – for about 45 minutes – and then I just started preaching writing. 
     Yes - writing. Somehow I switched the whole story presentation to talk about my new passion - my new hobby horse - writing!
      And yes I started "preaching?"  I think that is the only word to describe it.   I wasn't encouraging and suggesting that people should write a book, I was preaching it. 
     I have become a hot-headed evangelist. I don’t seem to care what your gifts or interests are, I want you – and everyone else - to write.
       I am clutching the mike, pounding my fist on the podium and preaching fire and brimstone messages to everyone who is not doing their morning pages. 
        I came home expecting to have a free  afternoon  – I’ve been quite busy of late. I thought I finally had my space to write! I was so excited to get going.
          As I walked through the door, I realized I don’t want to write. I just want to watch TV. 
        I have many exciting writing projects that are just begging for my attention. Only one more word - even a few sentences - would have furthered my cause.
          Nope - I just want a cup of tea and squander my entire afternoon. 
        Apparently, not everyone has to write a book - every moment of the day. There are other wonderful - delicious -  ways to spend one's time. 
​            I can’t believe how hard it is for me to admit that.

“Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.”  ― Marthe Troly-Curtin

  I never thought I would be finding a new life at this age. I thought we would be walking into the sunset by now - planning exotic vacations, dozing in our rocking chair or pushing up daisies. However, here we are, scrambling to meet the next deadline in our new life.
     I have to admit. It took us a bit to recover from the verdict. For a while, It felt as if we were free falling into emptiness. There was the "nothingness of an unsatisfactory ending"  then there was  also the "nothingness of no forced agenda."
      Perhaps it was even more complicated than that.  It was almost as if we had stepped into an empty nest syndrome. 
         Empty nest syndrome? Yes, - no one was demanding our attention anymore. We were no longer parenting - it seemed.  Then we realized that even though Candace had died - murdered 33 years ago - her invisible presence had remained a constant in our lives. She had never left our home.
       During the investigation  - that lasted 22 years and the trial process of another 11 years - she had needed our support. She required our presence in the courtroom, our love, our words. But after the writing of the final book, our responsibility was over.  It was as if she was no longer dependent on us. She had moved out. 
          She is still our child. We will always love her, but she now comes to us when she needs us. 
         For a while, it felt empty. However, that emptiness filled up quickly with all kinds of leftover passions that I had put on a shelf when the children were born.  
         Imagine, I can indulge in something new at this age.
​         Amazing.
         Of course, I have second thoughts. Is this possible? Is this right?  Will this last?
         In any case - it is fun.
        However, I know I wouldn't be here - except for all of the support that I received during those dark - never- ending years. I lived on all of  those kind thoughts and words that were given to me back then.
         Now - I am still trying to return all that kindness that was given so generously.
         So I will share the joy - just as I shared the sadness. 

My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style. Maya Angelou