Good Grief––Are you still here?

It’s been ages since I’ve written a blog post. So much has happened, so much has changed. This blog has evolved, over and over and funnily enough here we are going full circle. I’m back here because I want to talk about grief. This was my outlet when my father passed away. This blog got me through dark times. Shocking times. Emotionally draining times.

I’ve been really missing my dad recently. Funny how the world keeps moving. But mine stopped.

Well, not totally. I keep up a routine––of sorts. I smile. I joke. I play with the kids. I keep myself busy.

But I miss my dad. Terribly.

I *think* he speaks to me. His sayings come back to my mind at random times. The lessons he taught me will pop into my head when I need them most. Sometimes I hear his laugh in my head. And once… just once… he appeared to me and gave me a massive hug that lasted for a split second and had me wondering if I had imagined it.

I was teaching my youngest son to play chess. He was so determined to learn the different roles the pieces played. The way his eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated on the board reminded me of my dad. We used to play chess on Sunday afternoons. He was insanely competitive. You’d think a dad would let his own daughter win from time to time? Oh no. Not my dad. Even at the age of 9, he didn’t hold back. Now, I’m really good at chess. It’s a pretty useless skill nowadays. But I’m good at it because he helped me to grow by not taking it easy on me.

I’ve been experiencing this type of growth with my writing as of late. This year, I have written more words than I thought even possible. My writing is my solace. My healing. My escape.

And I have a wonderful editor who is not only professional, but she doesn’t hold back. There’s no ego-stroking, or dancing around hard words. She gives it to me straight. It’s like I’m a garden hedge being brutally pruned. Oddly, I love it.

But everything reminds me of my dad. According to my mother, in the months leading up to his sudden passing, he would say to her “I just wish Laura would write. She was born to be an author. I just wish she would write.” He did it for many nights. My mum says it drove her crazy. (Haha!)

Why did I wait until after he died to pursue my writing career again? Why didn’t I have more courage and start this journey years ago? Now, I have a collection of books published, thousands of readers (that blows my mind.) And today, I have confirmation that the audiobook for Love Me, Sweetie will be live in 10 days.

I’m in two multi-author boxsets later this year, and I have just begun writing the start of a fantasy.

So why do I feel so sad? Why am I hurting so badly?

It is as if he died yesterday. It all still feels so temporary. He’s not dead. He’s on holiday. I’m just looking after mum and taking care of things while he’s gone. He’ll be back.

He did promise that he would get better.

That’s the thing about life. People can’t always keep their promises. Sometimes people die. Sometimes life takes an unexpected turn.

And it hurts.

But perhaps life, is like my editor. It’s not holding back. It wont let up. Because through the pain, the loss, the fear and the opposition… maybe there is growth. And hope. And gratitude.

And a simple acceptance that we can not control what we can not control. So, we need to let go and focus on what we can do.

It’s been 651 days since you left dad.

651 days since your heart stopped, and mine broke.

They say time is a healer. I’m still waiting to be healed.






Laura Burton (4)

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