Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the many friends and family members I’ve lost in recent years. It wasn’t until I started writing The Adventures of Castaway Wilson that I realized just how much these losses have shaped me. Losing Wilson—the volleyball that had become a symbol of connection and adventure—felt strangely personal, almost as if I had lost a dear friend all over again. And then there’s Erin, whose absence still lingers in ways I never expected.
The scene from Cast Away where Tom Hanks' character watches Wilson drift away into the vast ocean has been weighing on my mind. It’s heartbreaking because it’s not just about losing a volleyball—it’s about losing a part of himself. He screams, he grieves, but he can’t get Wilson back. And in so many ways, I’ve found myself in that very moment, reaching for people I’ve loved, only to watch them drift beyond my grasp.
Grief is a strange companion. It doesn’t follow a straight path, nor does it arrive or leave on schedule. One moment, I’m filled with gratitude for the memories, and the next, I’m caught off guard by a wave of sadness. The five stages of grief—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance—don’t come in order, and they certainly don’t come just once. They cycle, they fade, they return.
But here’s what I’m learning: grief is not just about loss; it’s about love. It’s the evidence of how deeply someone mattered. And maybe, just maybe, sharing these stories—Wilson’s journey, Erin’s impact, and the many lives that have touched mine—will help keep their memory alive in the best way possible. I have a feeling that releasing my next book project to the world next month will help me in my five stages of grief I'm experiencing.
If you’re walking through grief, you’re not alone. Like Chuck Noland in Cast Away, we may feel adrift at times, but we can find our way forward. Let’s navigate this journey together. Have a great day.
No comments:
Post a Comment