When the Rhythm Breaks
It has been said that life is what happens while you are making other plans. Regular readers and listeners know that I have struggled to keep a consistent publishing schedule here and with the podcast. Much of that has had to do with caregiving, which is what sparked my most recent book, Creating While Caring. Even so, I had begun to find a rhythm again and was starting to catch up.
And then everything changed. Again.
Our severely disabled daughter, who in many ways has filled the whole room of our lives for the last twenty-two years, went into the hospital for what we believe was her fortieth hospitalization. In other words, something that felt serious, but routine. This time, the outcome was different.
She passed away early in the morning of December 15.
I know better than to turn this space into therapy. At the same time, a core purpose of this publication is to support people who continue to create in the face of life’s realities. Hannah has appeared throughout my writing, and many of you who follow my work already know her story. Because of that, it feels right and necessary to share this news here.
I have tried to get podcast episodes posted over the last couple of weeks. Honestly, it has not been within my capacity. We will get episodes up again. We will continue writing here in support of your creativity. And we will continue to share together, whatever your own circumstances may be.
One of the things I say often to clients is that specificity is the most direct route to connection. When we tell the most particular, most personal truths, we often touch something universal. Our circumstances differ, but experiences like frustration and joy, grief and love, are common to us all. When we name those things and give them enough detail to be felt, we name something human.
I will not wallow in grief. But I will not pretend it does not exist.
Pardon the interruption, but I want to make you aware of a resource. I am not trying to sell more books, but to make support accessible to those who need it. At the end of this post, you will find links to ebook versions of my books at fifty percent off, good through January 1, along with links to other formats. Perhaps you need that support. Perhaps you know someone who does. It is there if it would be helpful.
This brings to mind a story from my early years in ministry. In a congregation I served in the 1980s, there was a man I considered a friend. He was always laughing, joking, the kind of person who seemed utterly unburdened. During my first year there, he came into my office on the anniversary of a devastating loss.
Years earlier, his first wife and one of their children had been killed in a head-on collision on a winding stretch of highway. His wife, who was pregnant, died in his arms. Another child died in the back seat. Though he had remarried and built a good life, that date never passed easily.
After he left my office that day, another person came in with a different story of grief. Then another. Then another. Each one unique, each one wrenching. Stories that made you wonder how the person telling them had not curled up on the floor, unable to function.
It struck me then that nearly everyone carries something like this at some point in life. Something that knocks the breath out of you. Something that leaves you wrung dry.
Yet when we face such devastation ourselves, we often stay silent out of fear of burdening others or bringing the room down. And because we do not talk about these things, when they arrive in our own lives, we can feel alone at precisely the moment we most need other people.
I am not suggesting that transparency requires indiscriminate sharing. But it does suggest a few things.
For instance: We can be transparent without being consumed by our pain.
For another insight: When someone shares a hard story, the most helpful response is often simply to listen. We do not need to find the right words. In fact, the pressure to say something perfect is often what keeps us from saying anything at all. Presence matters more than eloquence.
For yet another recognition: It has also made me more patient with people who seem distant, distracted, or less than cheerful. You rarely know what someone else is carrying. Because you do not know, kindness matters.
That is the values-connected reason for this post.
I do not want this to be a downer. But I do want it to be real. I also know that some of you reading this carry your own grief, wonder how to stay connected, how to keep going, how to be human in the middle of it all.
Helping people live their values so they can value their lives has always been at the heart of this work. That includes the parts of life that are not tidy, efficient, or cheerful.
For now, this is what showing up looks like.
Here are the links I promised above. You can find all of my books at DonnKing.com/Books, where each title includes links to various retailers and formats, including print. For those who prefer ebooks, I’ve listed direct links below to the Smashwords editions currently available at 50 percent off through January 1. Please use whatever format or source is most helpful to you.
You know someone who could use this supportive message.
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I have read Creating While Caring, and it is a terrific book. Thanks, Donn, for all that you do and all that you are. I know that your loss of Hannah leaves
a large gap in your life. Mat that gap be filled with your love for her and the love of family and friends.
Well said, from a place of wisdom, as usual. :)