⭐PUYB Virtual Book Club⭐: Your Ghost

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PUYB Author Talks: ⭐A Bookish Conversation with 'Your Ghost: A Memoir of Love, Loss and the Echoes That Remain' Marie McGaha⭐ #interview

Marie McGaha is an award-winning writer whose work includes clean historical romances, Christian devotionals, and heartfelt children’s books. A storyteller at her core, she weaves faith, resilience, and gentle humor through every page she writes.

She makes her home in southeast Oklahoma, in the foothills of the Ouachita Mountains, where life is anything but quiet. Her days are shared with four spoiled dogs, a crippled rooster with more attitude than feathers, a noisy guinea who believes it runs the place, a couple of flighty hens, and a watchful roo who keeps an eye on everything that moves. This lively little farm—equal parts sanctuary and circus—provides endless inspiration, companionship, and the kind of grounding only God’s creation can offer.

Whether she’s crafting a tender love story, guiding readers through Scripture, or bringing the Bible to life for children through animal characters, Marie writes with a voice shaped by faith, loss, healing, and the stubborn hope that refuses to let go. Her work reflects the heart of a woman who has walked through fire and come out carrying stories worth telling.

You can also join her for daily devotionals on YouTube at @HeReignsChurch, where she shares encouragement, Scripture, and the steady reminder that hope is still alive. You can contact her by email: church.hereigns@gmail.com.

Marie’s latest book is Your Ghost: A Memoir of Love, Loss and the Echoes That Remain.

Visit her blog at authormariemcgaha.blogspot.com.

Connect with her on social media at:

╰┈➤ Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorMarieMcGaha

╰┈➤ LinkedIn: Linkedin.com/in/mariemcgaha

Can you tell us a little about yourself?

I’ve been a writer since I was a kid and had no idea how to write but I always knew I was a writer. I have written several books in different genres from historical romance to Christian non-fiction, children’s books, and now my latest book, Your Ghost. I have many grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.

Can you tell us about your latest book, Your Ghost: A Memoir of Love, Loss and the Echoes That Remain?

This book is by far the most personal and emotionally honest book I’ve ever written. The death of my husband, Nathan, wrecked me. I hadn’t been single since I was 28 years old, and now, in my 60’s, I was single. Losing him was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to face, so I began writing notes here and there, trying to purge the emotions and pain, and eventually, I had 600 pages of notes. One day, while looking them over, I thought maybe I wasn’t writing just my feelings but maybe others felt the same way and maybe what I went through would help them too.

Is Your Ghost: A Memoir of Love, Loss and the Echoes That Remain your only book?

No, I’ve been writing since long before there were computers in the home and the internet was a dream in someone’s mind. I have written many books in several genres from historic romance to non-fiction devotionals, to children’s books.

Now, can you tell us a little bit about your soulmate that prompted you to write this book?

Nathan is the best man I’ve ever known, then and now. He had never been married, had no children, yet married me with five kids at home and took on the role of being the support of the family like he’d always been with us. He didn’t just marry me, he married us all and took the responsibility very seriously. I was always the most important person in his life and he did everything within his power to make sure I was happy and we all had everything we needed. He was my biggest fan, best support, and loved me like I was the only woman on earth. And he was impossible at the same time. He teased me like we were children on a schoolyard. He played jokes on me, irritated me, which made him happy, and he played with the kids like he was their age. I’ll tell you a little story about him. We lived in the mountains of Idaho and our son-in-law came up the night before to help get wood split for the winter. The next morning at breakfast, I had made sausage, scrambled eggs and pancakes. We sat at the table and Nathan and our sil filled their plates and began eating. Nathan went to put butter on his pancakes but it had just come out of the fridge and was hard, so he banged on it and then held the knife above the cube perfectly still. Our sil froze mid-bite, glanced at Nathan, then at me as if he expected something terrifying to happen. I rolled my eyes as I picked up the butter dish and stuck it in the microwave for a few seconds, then placed it back on the table under Nathan’s knife that was still hanging in the air waiting. He never looked at me or changed expressions, he just buttered his pancakes as if nothing had happened and continued eating. Our sil glanced at Nathan and then at me and slowly began eating again. He was truly a unique man and I will love him forever.

In your book, you discover that grief is not a straight line but a sacred, winding path. Can you explain this?

Grief is not a linear pattern but rather, comes in waves, in varying degrees, and can be any shape you imagine. Even when you think you have a grip on it, something can trigger it and it’ll hit you as if it’s the first time, or it can be a soft hit that you can shake off. It has no limit, no pattern, and no mercy. It is like a nightmare you can’t wake from, and then, sometimes, it’s a fleeting thought. It rips you apart, tears out your heart, assaults your soul, and takes a long time to abate. You never know when it will hit next, how hard it’s going to be, if it’s going to knock you over, or just push a button or two. It comes in varying degrees, at times you least expect it, and refuses to let you go. The one thing I’m sure of is that it never goes away, it never gives peace, it’s just a constant reminder that the biggest part of your life is gone and isn’t coming back no matter how much you cry, beg, or bargain with God.

God played a huge role in helping you to handle your grief. If there were something you could tell him right now, what would that be?

I thank God every day that I’m still here and that He is pulling me through day by day. He is the only reason I survived this long and I am grateful, which wasn’t always the case. In those early months, the whole first year really, I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to be with my husband and I tried. Grief causes insanity. And I had a huge dose of it. I railed at God for taking my husband, knowing how it would affect me, knowing it would wreck me, knowing I couldn’t survive without Nathan. I begged God to bring my husband back. Certainly, if God could make Adam from a handful of dirt, He could bring my husband back from a handful of ashes. Instead, He gave me 2 Corinthians 4. I read it and read it and read it probably twenty or thirty times a day. I still read it because it still gives me hope and strength to get through one more day without Nathan.

Thank you so much for this interview, Marie. What’s next for you?

Thank you for having me. I’m writing another children’s book that I hope will out this fall. This one is for my sister’s two granddaughters and I hope they like it!

Where to purchase the book:

https://a.co/d/0hXo8ni2

Where to find Marie McGaha

https://authormariemcgaha.blogspot.com/

YouTube @HeReignsChurch

Inside the Book

Your Ghost: A Memoir of Love, Loss and the Echoes That Remain is a searing, faith-anchored memoir of love, loss, and the long road back to oneself. When Marie’s husband dies without warning, her world fractures in an instant, leaving her to navigate the brutal, unfiltered landscape of grief. In the quiet of an empty house and the chaos of a shattered heart, she wrestles with God, memory, and the haunting presence of the man she can no longer touch but cannot let go.

Told with unflinching honesty and spiritual depth, Your Ghost traces the intimate, day-by-day unraveling and rebuilding of a woman who refuses to let tragedy define the rest of her life. As she confronts guilt, loneliness, anger, and the strange moments when his nearness feels almost tangible, Marie discovers that grief is not a straight line but a sacred, winding path. What emerges is a story not only of devastation, but of resilience—a testament to enduring love, stubborn hope, and the quiet miracles that carry us forward when we think we cannot take another step.

╰┈➤Book Details

Genre: Memoir
Sub-genre: Survival Biographies
Language:English
Pages: 105
Hardcover: 979-8252998060

Your Ghost is available at Amazon.

*****

╰┈➤Here’s What Readers Have To Say!

“You will feel every emotion, especially the pain, of losing your soulmate unexpectedly as you read this deeply spiritual journey of recovery. This kind of loss is painful, emotionally draining and physically crippling. Through every stage of grief, Ms. McGaha helps us understand how we can begin to breathe again and move forward. I cried, I felt her pain and rejoiced as the agony slowly began to leave. The best book I’ve ever read about grief and recovery. A must read for anyone experiencing the loss of a loved one. Also, it’s proof God is still beside us at our lowest point… (this is) a woman trying to hang onto life. A life that crashed and burned unexpectedly… very inspiring.” – Vicki L.

“A beautifully written, heart-wrenching examination of deep-held grief, Marie McGaha pulls the reader in with her dynamic and impactful imagery, compelling us to understand her tragedy—the caregiving and ultimate loss of the one love of her life, her husband, Nathan. The thoughts, the analysis, and the unfolding of this unwanted, unasked-for journey from a woman familiar with grief are, at times, more than one can bear. Yet the sheer poetry, interwoven with the Word of God, brings us fully into the author’s world with brilliance. Her deeply personal exploration of grief—from exhaustion, to numbness, to heightened awareness—is extraordinary, leaving the reader with a greater understanding of our own journeys through death and loss. This is a journey that, once entered, will not easily be forgotten—a powerful and necessary read for anyone who has known love and loss.” – Linda W.

⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐Your Ghost: A Memoir of Love, Loss and the Echoes That Remain by Marie McGaha #Memoir

Your Ghost is an honest look at grief through the eyes of a woman loved deeply, lost suddenly, and is learning to live with the echo of loss left behind...

╰┈➤Book Details

Genre: Memoir
Sub-genre: Survival Biographies
Language:English
Pages: 105
Hardcover: 979-8252998060

Your Ghost is available at Amazon.

╰┈➤Here’s What Readers Have To Say!

“You will feel every emotion, especially the pain, of losing your soulmate unexpectedly as you read this deeply spiritual journey of recovery. This kind of loss is painful, emotionally draining and physically crippling. Through every stage of grief, Ms. McGaha helps us understand how we can begin to breathe again and move forward. I cried, I felt her pain and rejoiced as the agony slowly began to leave. The best book I've ever read about grief and recovery. A must read for anyone experiencing the loss of a loved one. Also, it's proof God is still beside us at our lowest point… (this is) a woman trying to hang onto life. A life that crashed and burned unexpectedly… very inspiring.” - Vicki L.

"A beautifully written, heart-wrenching examination of deep-held grief, Marie McGaha pulls the reader in with her dynamic and impactful imagery, compelling us to understand her tragedy—the caregiving and ultimate loss of the one love of her life, her husband, Nathan. The thoughts, the analysis, and the unfolding of this unwanted, unasked-for journey from a woman familiar with grief are, at times, more than one can bear. Yet the sheer poetry, interwoven with the Word of God, brings us fully into the author’s world with brilliance. Her deeply personal exploration of grief—from exhaustion, to numbness, to heightened awareness—is extraordinary, leaving the reader with a greater understanding of our own journeys through death and loss. This is a journey that, once entered, will not easily be forgotten—a powerful and necessary read for anyone who has known love and loss." - Linda W.

╰┈➤Read if you Love a Book That is...

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡ Tender

❤️ྀི Haunting

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡ Honest

❤️ྀི Faith-Anchored

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡ Intimate

Excerpt:

The Night My Life Ended

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints, (Psalm 116:15)

T.S. Eliot wrote, “This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but with a whimper.” Mine ended with a heart-shattering, gut-wrenching scream that came from a place so deep and primal, I wasn’t aware it was me.

Grief is not a single moment. It is a rupture, a tearing open of the world I thought I knew. The day my husband died, the stillness of our house pressed in on me. The hospital bed in our living room, the night falling beyond the windows, the chill of November air beginning to set in.

Inside those walls, everything I knew was ending. Twenty-three years of marriage, twenty-three years of shared laughter, arguments, plans, and dreams — gone with his last breath. The future we imagined together went up in smoke, like fog on a misty morning when the sun comes up, but today, there would be no sunrise.

Cancer is sinister. It is a thief, stealing moments, years, and dreams. It is a murderer, taking lives with no remorse. It is sadistic, tormenting the body while mocking the soul. It is raw, stripping away dignity, leaving only pain and silence.

Cancer does not simply arrive; it invades. It creeps into the corners of a home, into the rhythm of daily life, until everything revolves around its demands. It is not just a medical condition — it is a shadow that stalks, a cruel presence that reshapes love into labor and hope into survival.

At home, I became his caregiver. Our house transformed into a place of quiet battles — pill bottles lined up on the counter, blankets folded and refolded, the rhythm of care replacing the rhythm of ordinary life.

I watched him grow weaker, his body betraying him day by day. He lost weight until his clothes hung loose, until his frame seemed too fragile for the man I had known. His voice grew softer, his steps shorter, until walking across a room was no longer possible. The walls of our home became boundaries he could not cross, and I learned that love sometimes means bearing witness to limits I cannot change.

There is cruelty in watching someone I love fade within the walls once filled with laughter. I cooked meals he could no longer eat, held cups he could no longer lift, and sat beside him when sleep became his only refuge. Love became labor, and labor became love.

And yet, even in illness, there were moments of tenderness. His hand reaching for mine, his eyes searching for reassurance, the quiet gratitude in his smile when I tucked the blanket around him. We had built a life together — birthdays, holidays, ordinary Tuesdays — and even as his body failed, the love we shared remained intact.

That night, I held him in my arms, his body nestled between my legs on the bed. I whispered to him that he was a good husband, a good father, that our marriage was the anchor of my life. I wanted my words to be the last thing he heard, my embrace the last place he rested.

It would be the last time I felt his body next to mine, the last time I felt his heart beating against me, the last time I would hear his breath, smell his scent, and hold him close.

The room was quiet except for the sound of his breathing, each inhale and exhale a fragile thread tying him to this world. I counted them, knowing one would be the last. When it came, the silence was deafening.

I felt the world split open. My scream tore through the night, raw and unrecognizable. It came from a place beyond language, beyond thought — a primal sound that announced the end of everything I knew. Twenty-three years of love collapsed into that silence, leaving me in a foreign world where nothing was familiar.

I am a Christian. I believe in God. I believe in miracles. I believe in prayer. I prayed for my husband. I requested others to pray. But God had no miracles that day.

Faith did not shield me from loss. Prayers did not stop the silence from coming. I had believed in a God who could part seas, heal the sick, raise the dead. But on that night, there was no parting, no healing, no raising.

There was only the stillness of a body that would never move again, and the echo of prayers unanswered.

Grief has forced me to wrestle with faith in ways I never imagined. I still believe, but belief now carries scars.

I believe in God, but I also know that miracles are not guaranteed.

I believe in prayer, but I also know that sometimes the answer is silence.

Grief is disorienting. Time fractures. The minutes after his death stretched into eternity, yet the house around me remained unchanged. The bed was still there, the blankets still rumpled, the November night still pressing against the windows.

But everything inside me had collapsed.

His absence was everywhere — in the empty chair at the table, in the silence where his laughter used to be, in the bed that suddenly felt too large. I found myself reaching for him in the night, only to grasp at emptiness.

The scream that escaped me that night became an echo inside me. It reverberated through the days that followed, through the funeral, through the endless paperwork and condolences.

People told me I was strong, but strength felt like a mask I wore to survive. Inside, I was broken.

The world became foreign. Simple things — grocery shopping, answering the phone, folding laundry — felt alien, stripped of meaning.

Every plan we had made together dissolved. Trips we would never take, anniversaries we would never celebrate, grandchildren he would never hold.

The future was gone, erased in an instant.

Grief is not linear. It is tidal. Some days it recedes, leaving me with quiet memories. Other days it crashes over me, pulling me under.

I have learned to breathe in the undertow, to let the waves come, because they carry him back to me in fragments — his laugh, his touch, his presence in the ordinary moments of our life together.

I have discovered that grief is not something to get over. It is something I carry. It reshaped me, redefined me.

I am a wife but no longer married.

I am a wife who is no longer a part of a couple.

I am a wife who is single.

Sleep has become nearly impossible. It is short moments of dreams where we are together, laughing, holding hands but I awaken, and he is gone. Again.

I became a version of myself that I don’t recognize. Nothing is the same, yet everything is the same. I have aged. My hair whiter, my eyes duller, my smile less bright, my laughter comes less often.

I am a version of myself that is learning to live without my heart. I am learning to embrace grief as a part of who I am rather than an enemy who stalks me.

The stages of grief laugh at me. Some days they attack all at once, trampling on me, battering me relentlessly. Other days, they leave me in peace.

It’s nearly five years later and my husband is still gone. He is dead and I am the ghost that wanders through the house.

And yet, even in grief, I remember the life we built. The way he held my hand at the movies. The way we danced in the kitchen while dinner simmered on the stove. The way he kissed me goodnight, every night, for twenty-three years.

These memories are both balm and blade — they soothe me and they cut me open.

I remember our wedding day, the nervous laughter, the vows spoken with trembling voices, the joy of promising forever. I remember the births of our grandchildren, the way he cried when he first held them, the way he whispered their names like prayers.

I remember vacations where we got lost on back roads and laughed until our stomachs hurt. I remember quiet mornings with coffee, the news-paper spread across the table, his hand reaching for mine without thinking.

These memories are the architecture of my grief. They remind me of what was, and of what will never be again. They are proof that love existed, that it thrived, that it shaped me into who I am.

Eliot wrote of the world ending with a whisper. Mine ended with a scream. But grief has taught me that endings are not silent, nor are they final. They reverberate, echoing through the lives of those left behind.

My scream was not just the sound of loss — it was the sound of love refusing to be silenced. And though my husband is gone, that love remains — fierce, enduring, and unbroken.

The world may be foreign now, the future erased, but the love we shared is indelible. It is the sunrise that will never come yet still glows inside me.

– Excerpted from Your Ghost: A Memoir of Love, Loss and the Echoes That Remain by Marie McGaha, Dancing with Bear Publishing, 2026. Reprinted with permission.