Back in December, I celebrated the launch of my first book, Unveiling Ellie. I shared the magnitude of that celebration previously. Seeing my book on display, hearing the laughter and chatter, looking around the room seeing unknown faces scattered between the faces of loved ones. It was wondrous. Little did I know, it was just the beginning.
Amongst those unknown faces was a young couple who approached me while I was signing books. We began to chat. After about four minutes the woman purchased a copy.
How great is that? A stranger buying my book!
That’s not the part that’s great.
It’s what began to transpire after.
This same woman reached out to me online recently and shared this story with me…
After reading Unveiling Ellie she immediately thought of her aunt Ann and wanted to share it with her. She mailed her copy from Connecticut to Florida. A few days later her aunt called her crying.
You see, Ann and her husband Adam were expecting their first daughter on April 26, 2016. Everything went well; the pregnancy, the labor, the delivery. But their time with their little Amy was brief. She died only hours after she had arrived.
“I knew that day would be the worst day of my life but now I know better, now I know that I was wrong. That day wasn’t the worst day. The days after became the worst days. Feeling my body recover from a pregnancy, walking by the pink nursery, holding the blanket she was wrapped in for just a few hours. That was worse. But when Alex asked for his baby sister that crushed whatever was left of me.”
Depression quickly became her companion. There was even a season she struggled to enjoy her son or connect with her husband. She sought help and she is gradually getting better. But her life was changed forever.
Two weeks before receiving the book from her niece, Ann found out she was expecting again. She said it was bittersweet. Ironically, the poem that moved her the most was the one titled Bittersweet. It gave Ann just a bit more hope.
Now that, that is great.
Honestly, there are days that I doubt my abilities as an author but then I remember that there is someone, somewhere waiting for my words, waiting for my stories to invade their innermost space and show them that they are not alone. So, what other choice do I have than to continue connecting with them?