I would like to take a moment here, before I publish anymore snapshots, to share with you what dawned on me Wednesday night.
There are a lot of things I don’t know about this process.
…
I don’t know how to tell you what it feels like to be a voice for these women. I asked them to tell me their story. I tossed off a little note, asked for what they most wanted you to know. No big deal, right? An anecdote, a sweet story, a heartfelt goodbye.
No big deal. (I re-read the introduction to this series, written before I received any response, and I sound unbearably flippant. )
I don’t know why I didn’t understand, after pouring out my heart in this space, that these words don’t come gushing forth in pretty packaged sound bites. It’s a reverse surgery of sorts, an anesthesia-free re-birth of emotions you have spent years incising, stuffed in camouflage boxes in the corners of your brain.
So let me tell you what I do know.
I am not worthy of this task.
These women – they are brave, truth telling women – Some stories are hard, some are sad, some are achingly sweet, and some tear at your gut with no happy ending, at least not yet.
All of them are a gift. All of them are important.
I don’t know how I came to be the one collecting their stories in this space – I was stung today by what I take for granted, humbled by the words in my inbox.
I do know I am quiet gratitude for the honor.
Please take a moment and read them . . . they are heart-labors, and they are for you.
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