I never meant to write a book, although I was compelled to write. I filled my journal with pages of heartache, loss, joy and triumph. I beat out the raw edges of anger and deep collapse. I recorded every dream and message from Chloe in an attempt not to lose her presence. I had no audience-this was only for me. It was the only way I could navigate my internal landscape. I didn't monitor my thoughts, grammar or spelling. It didn't matter if anyone understood what I wrote, or even agreed with me. The suggestion that my journal become a book terrified me. This was one of the most intimate places in my life- my secret garden. But I somehow felt it, although I didn't know why, that it would take some kind of book form. When this began to be confirmed in different ways, I knew I had to start moving down this path. I set to work trying to make some kind of order out of it and then attempted to make it understandable to the world. It wasn't just the structural challenge I had to navigate. It was also an emotional battle of not wanting to be so immersed in the reality of my story. And then the wondering how it would be perceived. There would be nothing to hide. But as I worked through the making of the book I realized who I was now, and all I could do was offer my true, authentic self to the world. And so, it became a book.
Losing My Breath is an authentic account of the loss of a child. It is a walk from deep grief to joyful living and the weaving in and out of healing and brokenness in an unpredictable dance. Through explorations and journal entries, the author takes the reader on a journey through the many faces of loss including grief, forgiveness, anger, holidays and healing. The theme of eternal connection is woven throughout as continued communication is experienced between the author and her daughter.