⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐This is How I Spell Grief by Erik Lewin #Self-Help

 

Learn to address grief on your own terms, to make true and lasting peace with your loss…

By Erik Lewin

THIS IS HOW I SPELL GRIEF, Self-Help, Jeffrey Park Press, 126 pp.

Erik Lewin shares how he turned the profound loss of his mother and father into life-changing growth, with intimacy, warmth and humor. He offers a no-nonsense, commonsense way to create your personal path to acceptance of your loss.

Lewin became an expert in his grief experience twice over, encouraging readers to find their own way, as no two lives or losses are the same. He eschews expert opinions and general analyses of grieving in favor of common sense, letting you know you are not alone in how you’re feeling. He shares how he turned his loss into an impetus to personal change. A former criminal defense lawyer, Lewin is now a full time writer and standup comedian.

This Is How I Spell Grief takes a counter-intuitive approach to self-help; there are no eight simple exercises to get over it. Instead, you gradually learn to address grief on your own terms, to make true and lasting peace with your loss.

PRAISE

“Generous, intimate and deeply personal, even funny at times. I believe this book will help readers work with their own grief.” - NOAH BRUCE, PsyD, Clinical Psychologist and Clinical Director, Salinas Valley Medical Clinic

“Outstanding work. Everything I felt about my father’s recent death and my best friend’s death 14 years ago was articulated in this writing. It truly is a wonderful tome on helping one to manage their grief after the death of a loved one.” – Philip Peredo

“This is the book that I wished I had many years ago when first confronting the passing of my father. The author expertly navigates all of the issues that one encounters when grieving. It’s a remarkable book in that even for those who think we have a handle on their grief, the author helps us understand new ways to engage with grief. It’s definitely not a self-help book, but I found it much more profound and valuable.” - AKF

 

CHAPTER 5

The World Goes on But You’re Still Grieving

5.1 PEOPLE DON’T UNDERSTAND

One of the worst aspects of grief is it can feel like nobody knows what you’re talking about. This can make you feel emotionally alienated, and therefore reluctant to share your feelings with others.

Since losing my mom and dad, I’ve tried to share with family my feelings of alienation, but I suspect they’re convinced I’m something of an alien; as if the emotional frequency I am tuned into is like dog ears—one they cannot hear at all.

Hey, I’m now alone in the universe. “Oh okay,” they reply, “want to get a hot dog?”

Or silence. They’ll just ignore the subject. It’s flabbergasting! Especially when it’s an anniversary of loss, and the person is aware of this, it hangs in the air real thick and gloomy; they treat it as no more important to discuss than the weather, something far in the distance, passing us by. The longer the absence of their acknowledgment of the loss, the gloomier and thicker the air becomes, until it’s suffocating to not say something. It’s up to me to bring it up! As if it wouldn’t exist otherwise! I’m sorry to have made them feel uncomfortable.

I understand that no one wants to talk about death. In the first place it’s depressing, and its finality is just plain hard for a human mind to comprehend. It’s baffling, overwhelming, heartbreaking, traumatizing, debilitating, anxiety-inducing, and this list goes on.

But the irony is laughable! Everybody on the planet dies, so presumably, many people have lost someone close already, and you would therefore think many could relate. The truth is somewhere in between; a lot of people still have not lost a parent, or child, or brother or spouse, someone integral to their life, and this often renders them incapable of meaningfully empathizing, or even sympathizing, with your experience. Likewise, certain people are simply incapable of dealing with the discomfort of the subject. In the end, there’s effectively not too much difference between the two, and so it just becomes too exhausting to examine the reasons why any particular individual doesn’t feel really “there for you.”

Nevertheless, as I grapple with the enormity of loss, I still do bristle at those who express scant empathy. I visited with a close relative, (whom I still love in spite of the following) shortly after my mom’s passing. I felt fragile and vulnerable, yet eager to commiserate with someone who knew my mother well. It felt like an opportunity to help with my healing process, and of course, listen to anything grief related my relative might have to share. When I arrived, to my shock, over the course of an entire day, he didn’t ask a single question, or say a single word regarding my mom’s passing.

We were outside his apartment later in the day already, and he looked at me with a certain intention. I figured this would finally be the opening salvo into the subject. He spoke.

 “Hey Erik, wanna smoke some weed?”

“No man, I’m good.”

“Drink?”

"Nope."

“How about a little boxing?”

“Okay.” We plugged in the video game. My head swam with confusion. When is he going to say something? Then he suggested we go out for a burger. I thought I’d give him a head start.

“So how’re things with you?” I said.

“Pretty good, but tough sometimes, y’know.”

Okay, here comes the first mention of my mom’s passing.

“This place is a lot of fun on the weekend. . .”

OMG!!! At this point I paid little attention to whatever he talked about, none of which had anything at all to do with my mother. We hung out all day without so much as one solitary word on the matter. That my mom had just died. Not one question about it, not one question about how I was holding up. Nothing. We parted ways afterward, and as I drove off, the chance of any talk of it now gone, I was pissed.

I guess he was. . . unsure, uncomfortable, weirded out about how I’d react—

He maybe thought: So. . .  I guess I might as well say nothing. Yeah, ‘cuz if A, B & C options all mean saying something, and I’m not sure which one is right, then, uh, yeah, let’s go with D—say nothing. Can’t go wrong then. Besides, Erik’s here to get away, escape, have a little fun—what kind of dick would I be if I reminded him that his mom just died?

I promise you I haven’t forgotten that my mom has died! I also love when people say this sort of thing, like—I didn’t want to bring it up, I mean maybe you wouldn’t want to talk about it, and I’d be rude to put you on the spot like that, it’d be thoughtless and disrespectful of me to cause you pain like that.

Here’s a message to all humans who have said something like the above to someone in grief—THE PAIN IS NOT FROM YOU BRINGING IT UP. IT’S FROM THE FACT THAT MY LOVED ONE HAS DIED.

I say this emphatically, but with less anger and bitterness as my process of recovery deepens. In other words, it’s important to convert one’s frustration into an understanding that is cathartic. The message here is these feelings of dissatisfaction are perfectly acceptable and normal, though that doesn’t mean you have to hold them close to your heart. You can observe the reactions of people, as well as your own feelings, accept them and let go. 

There are friends who have gone so far as to have questioned what was wrong with me. Why am I not the same person? How I disappointed them. And from one point of view, who can blame them? They’re not the ones suddenly crying at a bar during a night out. It’s ME. That kind of behavior doesn’t scream fun to be with. I’d go out with friends and they’d be upbeat, living their normal lives, and I’d just kind of stare at them for long silences. After a while of that, I didn’t have to worry about turning down too many invites.

I didn’t mean to be dead weight. It’s just that whether or not your friend should switch to Dial soap to better moisturize their skin rash didn’t hold quite the same sway over my attention. All these mundane parts of life that everyone is so caught up with. How serious can I take any of it?

It’s even harder when some friends and family continue to wonder why I haven’t “moved on.” It’s been so many years already, how come you still seem so burdened? How come you’re still not back to “normal”? I’d love to send a message to people everywhere who have made any bereaved person feel this way: MY FAMILY IS STILL GONE. As in, not coming back to life. How could I not continue to be deeply impacted by this irreversible fact? I am doing the best I can.

These frustrations are commonly felt by those of us who have lost a loved one. I hope other sufferers have the good fortune to benefit from support that is healthy, responsive and supportive. It is also certainly possible to make new connections and to develop friendships that can be quite nurturing. Unfortunately, if you’re bereft of such help, a certain sense of estrangement can arise.  

There are mourners who may momentarily have an attitude of well one day you’ll understand, but I’m confident no one actually wishes grief on anyone. But the truth is, wished or not, everyone will be next in line at some point. The time will come when everyone will lose a loved one and be overwhelmed with grief.  I think it’s an instructive question to pose: What kind of support would you hope for?

 

BUYING INFORMATION

is available at:

Erik Lewin is the author of three books – This is How I Spell Grief, Animal Endurance, and Son of Influence – as well as numerous essays published in Ponder Review, GNU Journal, David Magazine, Real Vegas Magazine &Literate Ape. Erik is also a stand-up comedian who performs in clubs and venues around the country. He formerly practiced law as a criminal defense attorney in New York City and Los Angeles. He is at work on a new one-man show loosely based on This is How I Spell Grief.

Erik lives in Las Vegas with his wife and their furry pets.

Visit his website at www.eriklewincomedy.com or connect with him on Facebook and Goodreads.

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⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐Buried Secrets by Mike Martin @mike54martin #mystery

  

Come back to Grand Bank for another great adventure in Sgt. Windflower Mysteries...

By Mike Martin

BURIED SECRETS, Mystery, Ottawa Press and Publishing, 285 pp.

RCMP Sergeant Winston Windflower is at a crossroads as career opportunities intrude on his near-perfect life in the blustery paradise of Grand Bank, Newfoundland. Just as the pandemic ends, the little oceanside communities are rocked by the murders of prominent figures, an RCMP Staff Sergeant in St. John’s and a minister in Grand Bank, and it’s implied that there are national security implications to at least one crime. There’s also a sinister new character hanging around doing the parish’s dirty work. Windflower finds himself a primary investigator, balancing work, potential major changes, and life with a young family while seeking guidance from his ancestral teachings and dreams.

Are the crimes connected, and can Windflower and his team find the killer before they strike again? Even as the police work becomes more complicated and even dangerous, Sgt. Windflower finds time to enjoy his family, his friends and always some great food. Come back to Grand Bank for another great adventure in Sgt. Windflower Mysteries.

Windflower would get to go back to Grand Bank himself this weekend to join his family and hopefully see old friends for the first time in what seemed like forever. That cheered him, despite his tiredness as he pulled into the driveway of his rented house on Forest Road. He had a long, cool shower and put on his shorts and tee-shirt to enjoy a beer and the last of this fine summer day.

He sat on the back deck and popped the top off his Quidi Vidi Honey Brown Ale, one of his local favourites. He called Sheila to see how she was faring in Grand Bank.

“Hi, Winston. I’m doing grand, thank you. Although the fog is rolling in from Saint-Pierre. That’ll cool things down pretty good. Uncle Frank is coming over for supper.”

“How’s he doing?” said Windflower. “He must be bored out of his mind with the B&B shut down.”

“You know Frank,” said Sheila. “He’s always got something to do. As far as the B&B goes, I guess it’s a write-off this year. Levi is okay. He’s getting the employment benefits, but even if they say we can open, there are no tourists anyway.”

“I guess it’s hard on anybody that depends on tourism,” said Windflower.

“But everybody here is safe and well. That’s what really counts,” said Sheila. “When are you coming down?”

“I thought I’d leave first thing Friday morning,” said Windflower. “I’ll be there by lunchtime, and I’m going to take Monday, too.”

“Excellent,” said Sheila. “The girls miss you terribly. Me, too.”

“I miss you guys a lot,” said Windflower. “I’ll call later to say goodnight.”

Windflower hung up and drained his beer. He thought about another but didn’t want to get into another bad habit. One he was already trying to break was eating take-out. When you were by yourself, it wasn’t as much fun to cook alone. He wasn’t walking as much either. Sheila had taken his collie, Lady, with her to Grand Bank. But he missed her companionship, and she was always ready for a walk. Come to think of it, he even missed Molly, the cat.

He and Molly had a love-hate relationship. She demanded love and she hated him. Well, hate was a strong word. But she didn’t like him, and if he was really honest, he was afraid of her. Despite all of that, he missed them all. Sheila, the kids, the animals and the eternal chaos that surrounded all of them. It was his life, and he really missed them.

To cheer himself up, he made a plan to have a steak for supper. And so he wouldn’t be too lonely, he called his neighbour and new friend, Wilf Pittman. Wilf was a widower who had helped Windflower with numerous projects around the house and had become a surrogate grandfather to his girls, both of whom adored him. That was especially true of Stella, who’d had a hard life so far and who clung to Wilf Pittman as one of her anchors. He was happy to love them both in return and to be part of the extended Windflower family.

Wilf had already eaten, but he was happy to come over for a visit. He was there in a couple of minutes.

“You get used to eating early when you’re by yourself,” said Wilf. “But I love the smell of barbeque.”

Wilf and Windflower chatted while he cooked his steak and continued while Windflower ate his dinner. Windflower made a pot of tea and cut the last of a cherry pie into two pieces as they went back out on the deck to enjoy the evening.

Later, Windflower walked Wilf home and continued his walk alongside Quidi Vidi Lake, walking to the bottom of the lake and circling back. He watched TV for a little while when he got home and read until bedtime. He called Sheila to say goodnight and drifted off to sleep.

His peaceful repose was disturbed when he woke up in a dream. Windflower knew it was a dream because when he felt himself stir, he looked down at his hands. That was one trick his Auntie Marie and Uncle Frank, master dream weavers, had taught him. “Look for your hands,” Uncle Frank had said. “Then you’ll know you’re in the dreamworld and you will be able to understand more of what’s going on.”

Auntie Marie, his most dear and cherished family member, had passed not long ago, but before she left, she had taught Windflower many things about dreaming and how to interpret his own dreams and those of others. Windflower was a Cree from Northern Alberta, and while his family was known for its dream-weaving abilities, it was not a common thing among his people. Most knew and believed in a spirit world, but few had mastered the art of dream weaving.

Uncle Frank had tutored Windflower, along with his wife, and while Auntie Marie was the true master, his uncle had a lot of skills in this area that Windflower took advantage of too. After Auntie Marie’s death, Uncle Frank had decided to move to Newfoundland and stay in Grand Bank. He would look after the beautifully restored B&B that Sheila and Windflower had brought back to life. Unfortunately, the pandemic put a cold, wet blanket on those plans.

As he thought about his uncle and aunt with fond memories, Windflower’s dream became more vivid. He found himself in a small boat, a fishing dory, at sea. He could see nothing but water in all directions. Then he felt the boat being lifted into the air. At first, he thought the boat would rise and lift off into the sky. But just as quickly as it rose, the boat fell down again. Then it was lifted up again. Then lay gently down on the water.

When Windflower looked around and underneath his boat, all he could see was a mass of black in the water. Then a giant eye appeared. Windflower realized it was a whale. The whale blinked. Did that whale just wink at me? Windflower didn’t have much more time to think because he could feel the whale diving below the boat, and he and the vessel were being sucked underneath with it. Just as he thought he would surely drown, he woke up.

He shook himself awake and went to the bathroom. That was strange, he thought. I wonder what that was all about. Because dreams were always about something. Maybe he could talk to Uncle Frank about it when he saw him on the weekend. That was as much as he could do for the night, so he turned off the lights and went back to sleep. He must have been tired, because he didn’t wake until his alarm went off in the morning.

 

BUYING INFORMATION

is available at:

Mike Martin was born in St. John’s, NL on the east coast of Canada and now lives and works in Ottawa, Ontario. He is a long-time freelance writer and his articles and essays have appeared in newspapers, magazines and online across Canada as well as in the United States and New Zealand.

He is the author of the award-winning Sgt. Windflower Mystery series set in beautiful Grand Bank. There are now 11 books in this light mystery series with the publication of Buried Secrets. A Tangled Web was shortlisted in 2017 for the best light mystery of the year, and Darkest Before the Dawn won the 2019 Bony Blithe Light Mystery Award. Mike has also published Christmas in Newfoundland: Memories and Mysteries, a Sgt. Windflower Book of Christmas past and present.

Mike is Past Chair of the Board of Crime Writers of Canada, a national organization promoting Canadian crime and mystery writers and a member of the Newfoundland Writing Guild and Ottawa Independent Writers.

Buried Secrets is his latest book.

You can visit his website at www.sgtwindflowermysteries.com or connect with him at Twitter and Facebook.

Sponsored By:

⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐Creature Cat Tales by M.G. Rorai #children #poetry

 

Life lessons for kids—as told by creature cats!

By M.G. Rorai

CREATURE CAT TALES, Children/Poetry, 68 pp.

This whimsical collection of poetic life lessons is sure to inspire positivity and values while delighting young readers with charming creature cat stories and illustrations. Come join the creature cats as they make learning fun—a purrfect addition to any kid’s collection. Suggested reading age 8-12.

• Pick up your copy of Creature Cat Tales at Amazon.

Mary was a water creature

with webbed feet and tail;

her kind glided through water

as naturally as whales.

Her brother swam strong

while her sister liked to splash

Mary liked neither;

she certainly wasn’t rash.

Her tribe would hold parties

in the ocean so vast;

Mary always stayed put;

Bereft, alone and outcast.

She remembered when they were little

Running up and down the beach;

Life was the cat’s meow

to use a figure of speech

Her mother taught them to wade

and paddle just like so

then dive into the deep

and catch the fish below.

Mary had a secret

that she never said out loud;

she kept it to herself;

this thought she was not proud.

Mary was afraid of drowning

she didn’t want to chance

breathing in the water

and doing a drowning-cat dance.

So she sat on the shore

while others went out to play

until she heard a desperate mew

coming from the water one day.

A cat had fallen

from an overhanging tree;

there were no other creatures around

she would have to go into the sea.

Mary gathered her courage

and paddled out to help;

She reached the kitten in time;

As she grabbed it, it yelped.

As she pulled the small one to safety

she saw a crowd had gathered

cheering her on;

showing how much she had mattered.

Back on the shore

her siblings praised her actions

she was their quick-thinking sister

Mary grinned with satisfaction.

After that day

Mary realized she swam well;

She stopped fearing the ocean;

And now has sea stories to tell.

 

Fear can hold back

some truly great moments;

have the courage to try

so you don’t regret postponements.

 

Amazon →  https://amzn.to/3zFP5QR

M.G. Rorai enjoys hanging with her cats and annoying her husband. She’s been writing for as long as she can remember and is slightly obsessed with cats.

Her latest book is Creature Cat Tales.

You can visit her website at https://www.mgspear.com/ or connect with her on Facebook or Instagram.

Sign up for the author’s newsletter at her website.

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