Books are lighthouses erected in the great sea of time……E.P. Whipple
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I write so therefore I read. It is one of my great delights in life. One day I was reading novels. The next day I was plunged into a nightmare of grief and found I couldn’t read a thing. My concentration had deserted me……but not for long.
In my grief, books became my anchor. They were a stablising and natural ally that I came to depend on in the alien world I now found myself in. I spent hours in the library, on the internet, in bookshops and buried in my own bookshelves….. searching.
I had 3 burning questions:
1) Where is my son now?
2) How have other people survived what I am going through?
3) How do I nourish my soul and replenish my spirit?
So I read looking for information. I read when I needed consolation. But more importantly I read because I needed hope. Even though my heart felt like it was literally hanging out of me ripped and in bleeding shreds, my soul held a shard of burning hope. Hope that one day; I too would not only be reunited with my son, but one day I would be like the women I read about. One day my soul would sing again. It did and does. Yours will too, one day.