My daughter confided to me she was pregnant in a phone call. It was her third child in five years. Thrilled and a little nervous, she wondered if her father and I could stop by for a short visit on our way to visit her brother. She wanted to tell her daddy in person and see his exuberant reaction. I thought it was a delightful suggestion and promised to keep her secret. She was eight weeks along.

We drove from Florida's panhandle to Atlanta a week later. When we arrived, our three- and five-year-old grandsons bounced on the sidewalk in boyful joy as we extracted ourselves from the car after the five-hour drive. Inside their home, I finally freed myself from the boys, who wanted to show and tell me everything, in order to give a quick hug to my daughter. 

"How did the doctor's visit go?" I whispered into her ear. She'd informed me she scheduled a gynecologist visit that morning to be able to show us the most current diagram of her next child. When she didn't answer, I pulled away from our hug and looked at her. She shook her head and looked away. 

"Grandma! Grandma! Did you bring a new book?"

My eight-second reprieve was over. Two adorable grandsons pulled on my hands to lead me to the couch and a new book, smiles beaming, their little feet jumping bunny hops. I looked over my shoulder. My husband stood in the kitchen holding our daughter in a tight embrace. 

Later that day, during the boys' quiet time, she told us the doctor could not find a heart beat during her exam. Tears washed her face as she explained her doctor's gentle instructions to wait for her body to expel her little one in the days ahead.

With heavy hearts, we left the next day to visit our son's family as planned. Soon after, I received another call from our daughter. "It's so weird, Mom, knowing there's a baby inside me who's no longer alive. I'm struggling. Would you possibly be able to come back and wait with me?"

Of course I went. We bought chocolates, wine, and comfort foods. We watched movies, changed diapers, and waited. 
Sobs from the bathroom announced the miscarriage a few nights later. 

Our spirits process life events in layers and stages, most often subconsciously, because the world doesn't stop for life or death. Out of the fertilized seed and ashes of this little grandchild, God birthed the story of The Light We Cannot See. It tells of angels who carry little ones from heaven to play all night in a toy store in light adults cannot see. Their guardian angels whisk them back to heaven before dawn while the other angels tuck the toys back where they belonged.

God uses everything. Nothing is wasted. I thought I was writing a children's story and at first glimpse, I did.

But bereaved parents find joy and peace within the pages of this little story, too. And up in heaven, a little child sends me a thumbs up for keeping his or her legacy alive. 

Bio: Chris Manion is a multi-published award-winning author, speaker, and editor. She is a University  of Dayton honors graduate. Chris’s books help readers address self-pity, abandonment, child loss, and a personal relationship with Jesus. The Light We Cannot See earned 1st Place in the Living Waters Children's picture book awards and five Purple Dragonfly Book Awards. When she's not writing, she volunteers as a GAL (Guardian ad Litem) child advocate for foster children. She kayaks, gardens, and sings in her church choir. Her two adult children, five beautiful grandchildren, and beloved husband make her heart sing. She is the former president and now member of Word Weavers Destin. 

Several years ago, when I had retired from my medical practice of internal medicine, my wife and I thought we ought to travel while we were still able physically and mentally. We realized that we were aging and were experiencing various aches and pains. Perhaps the death of our only daughter who died at the age of 37 was also an incentive.  

It was early during my retirement that I  wrote a true short story about a faithful goose and two white ducks that were in residence at our small lake where we lived. Sadly one of the ducks was killed by a neighborhood dog. I sorrowfully dedicated my story “In Memory of a Duck” to my own lost little duck.

After writing that first story, I began to write short stories to save my sanity. My subsequent stories were everyday encounters with people, animals, and nature but I never thought or planned to have them published.

Several years after the terrible loss of my beloved daughter, I experienced another devasting loss that changed my life forever when my wife noticeably began to descend into the world of shadows. She was afflicted with a disease that stole her mind and body, a malady known as Alzheimer’s. During the following five years I cared for her at home without outside help. It was during those years that in sorrow, I wrote stories such as “Descending Into the World of Shadows,” “Where Have They All Gone,” “Many Goodbyes,” and yes, a story of our love titled “An Enduring Love Affair.”

After her hospitalization for pneumonia, it was necessary to place her in a nursing home because of her profound weakness, and my inability to properly care for her at home. It was at that time that I sadly wrote the story “Home is Where the Heart Is” and feared that the nursing home would become her home and thus my home for the rest of our lives.

It was while I was with her in the nursing home one day for lunch that events changed my life when one of the five nurse examiners who had come to the nursing home for a five-day evaluation of nursing home care from the state of Ohio, came to our table and asked me what was the matter with my wife. I told her my wife was suffering with Alzheimer’s. During the ensuing conversation I mentioned that I had written several stories about the disease. She began to cry and then told me that her father had recently died from Alzheimer’s. The following day, after reading “Descending into the World of Shadows,” she begged me to have my stories published. “They would do so much good for so many people,” she said.

Then, in the following days, I received many letters from  her mother and their many friends encouraging me to have my stories published.

So yes, I had previously determined why I needed to write my stories. I realized that Alzheimer’s had  become an epidemic scourge in our society and needed to be fought and conquered. It didn’t matter if my stories didn’t win a Pulitzer Prize in literature or make a lot of money. If my stories would  help in some small way to bolster mankind’s awareness against this fearsome adversary, then every effort was worth it. 

I lovingly cared for my wife for eight more years in the nursing home. She died a few days after her 91st birthday. I had sworn 68 years earlier when we were married that I would never allow her to be alone, and I would love and take care of her until death do us part. And so I did.

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Andrew Opritza is a 95-year-old retired physician living in Malvern, Ohio. He has been writing short stories for many years, with this being his sixth published book. He was in practice for 30+ years and many of the stories are drawn from those experiences. 

When Solomon bursts into the first chapter of Ecclesiastes, he declares everything meaningless. Three books earlier, I’d wrestled alongside Job. If I had lived in their time, I would have encouraged his friends to invest in a journal and work through their feelings before they shared their opinions. I didn’t understand Solomon’s nuanced pessimism such as, “generations come and go” and “everything under the sun is meaningless,” but as I age, I sense an urgency to find meaning and prepare for death. Maybe that’s what bugged Solomon.

The process of creating colorful stories fills moments before rising when ideas flow from a restful place. Scrambling for my phone to dictate my thoughts, I miss pen and paper notetaking before technology transformed us. Writing about hope shatters the sorrow of my youth. If I could record those snippets of victory over darkness, or illustrate that to children, or give a kingdom perspective to women my age, I’d better hustle. Anything is possible as I consider the words of King Solomon and find purpose in Christ’s plans instead of complaining about today’s trials.

Penning a legacy for the next generation, whether they are coming or going, often begins in an unassuming notebook. My adolescent diaries, college musings, poetry, sermon notes, and lists making, inspired me to create a series of journals to replace the grungy, vintage notebooks perched on my shelves. I relegated them to a plastic container hiding the brokenness, but pray someone might find the beauty of Christ who brought me into his light.

I invested energy in 2021 to self-publish what I know best. Journaling and keeping notes, ideas, and lists. Journaling Scribbles blended my love of art and creativity with my need for written and visual organization.

Once the idea germinated, the sketching grew into a mass of thumbnails and potential titles. My architectural tools found renewed purpose. My Prismacolor pencils, still vibrant after forty years of Bible marking, brought the project to life. I wanted titles printed on the spines and the color-splashed bindings made me smile. I’d found a place for my artwork, a potential residual income source for my children, and an avenue to leave a legacy for future generations by teaching writers how to use technology. Now if I could just understand SEO or hire someone to teach me.

I may not ever collate or organize the stacks I wrote before publishing Journaling Scribbles. That task might be meaningless, but God’s marvelous entry into Ecclesiastes — his powerful gut-punch of a wakeup call— prodded me into action, and I have published twenty journals and counting.

Although brokenness sometimes slip-streams into my morning hours, I now place a journal beside my bed to capture ideas before my feet hit the floor. My story, woven through the pages of tattered half-journals and bright new covers, might be the bridge of healing I’ve prayed for so many years.

Our days are numbered by our creator. No one knows how long we’ll be tethered to this earth. But we know our days are sweet gifts. Whatever love notes, or inspiration propels us to encourage each other, whatever thoughts we wrangle to share with the next generation, or whatever hope prompts us to get out of bed each day, we know we have purpose. We matter to God.

For now, just for today, I’ll organize words, invent themes for the next journal, and create colorful life stories penned for God’s glory. My next project, The Love Note Collector, inspired by my “punny” husband and his rhyming, poetic scribbles as he goes about his day, is scheduled for later this year.

What type of journal would you create to share with the next generation?

(If you’d like to be notified when the journals are live on Amazon or my store, please sign up for my newsletter at www.patriciatiffanymorris.com and scroll to the bottom of any page. You’ll find inspirational stories, poems, and art for sale. Tech-challenged writers can join My Artsy Digital Sandbox on FB. This is a second email list for scheduled tutorials. Enjoy!)

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An enthusiastic writer, artist, and brainstorming creative, Patricia Tiffany Morris sketches ideas in her sleep, that is when she takes time to sleep. Reading and studying long hours at night served her well during architectural design studio at ISU in the eighties where she soaked up engineering, computer, and art skills. 

Her eclectic awards from 2019-2021 ranged from poetry, short fiction, children’s stories, to suspense and inspirational prose. Earning first place at BRMCWC in 2021 for her upcoming split-time novel, Patricia holds publishing credits at The Ekphrastic Review, Word Weavers Int, Lyrical Iowa, and Guideposts. She has also published an artistic collection of journals and planners at KDP.

Now an empty-nester, she’s inspired by her rhyming husband, who reads her suspense-filled fiction in delightful character voices and helps her brainstorm tech-laced plot threads woven with themes of forgiveness and hope.

Patricia actively supports fellow authors and offers geeky tech services for a minimal price & adores teaching others. Sharing about Christ through inspirational fiction and artsy, sermon notes and coloring pages keeps her dreams lively. She enjoys collaborating with other artists & writers. She adores Pinterest and hashtags but finds Twitter quirky.