HOPE IS A GIFT THAT WE GIVE TO OURSELVES

I opened my eyes this morning, I reminded myself that 2017, the worst year of my life, is over. The year that I lost my husband, my lover and my best friend has past. It is time for me to create a new life, a fulfilling life as a tribute to the love we shared.

I am embarking on the final steps in my first endeavor as an author. I began today, to type in the data that will lead my book to the printer. My book unfolded with Mike’s encouragement and support. “It is important,” he continued to remind me, “that you share your journey with others.”

But I was tired from being a care-giver for so many years. I had worked hard on the book, but the continued demand to be his health-care partner was taking a toll. “It’s just too much,” I told him. “Soon I will be sick too.”

“Don’t give up,” he admonished, “young women need your story. They need to see your passion to help them learn and grow and become all that they can be. They need to know how you conquered so many challenges that they face every day. You must finish.”

The last evening of his life, I fell exhausted in the chair across from him after a 3-hour phone conference with my production team. “I can’t.” I mumbled, “They are asking too much.”

“Relax for a bit,” was his response. “It’s going to be okay. Get some sleep and I will help you in the morning.” But morning wasn’t going to come for Mike. During the night, he went to a better place, free from pain and the ravages of heart failure.

Pushing myself to continue the work became both joyful, as I indulged in the story of our two lives together, and a curse because all I wanted to do was to grieve. Yet, timelines and what I owed the production team demanded that I work and his voice was prodding me on. What could I do but finish.

I am filled with hope in this new year that has been given to me. Soon, Mike’s dream that my book will be available to others will become a reality. So, piece by piece, I doggedly finish the final tasks to upload my book to the printer.

Each step I complete is a tribute to our love and to all that Mike taught me about dignity and humanity. I have glimpsed the heart and soul of the struggle of an African-American man who was born and raised on a Mississippi sharecropper’s plantation and rose to his heights in the powerful black worker’s movement arising in Detroit during the late 60s and early 70s.

My life with Mike has changed me and my conception of the world around me. I hope in some way, that I have conveyed the depth of my new understanding in a way that is palatable and inspiring to my readers.

Soon, my book saga will end and you will find it on local bookstore shelves or on the pages of Amazon. Please celebrate with me and share in my new beginnings.

WHAT MY LEFT HAND WAS DOING: LESSONS FROM A GRASSROOTS ACTIVIST

Coming soon… there is some promising movement in getting this to print.

I invite you to “follow” my blog by clicking on the follow button at the top right. You will receive notices of new posts and can keep updated on my book publication timeline.

Thanks for reading!

6 thoughts on “HOPE IS A GIFT THAT WE GIVE TO OURSELVES

  1. sharon popp

    You’ve always had such an amazing skill with language-I know that I’ll enjoy your rendition of your life of activism. As Mike said, young women need to hear your story-I’ll definitely share it with our daughters and they will with their daughters!

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
    1. joanncastle Post author

      Thank you, Sharon,
      It is young people like your daughters who must pick up our banner and carry on the fight for equality and justice. The struggle is unending and we must plant the seeds.

      Like

      Reply
  2. Doug

    Very good letter of renewed strength and commitment.Mike gave us all inspiration,he was a humble and rare person of great insight in helping others.We are really looking forward to the book.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
    1. joanncastle Post author

      Doug, Thank you for your kind words. Mike was certainly ‘one of a kind.” His department head at Wayne State told me: They don’t make ’em like that anymore. I was so privileged to spend forty-five years of my life with him. Joann

      Like

      Reply

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