Spotlight: Craig Wallwork and how he changed the way I think.

So, I thought it could be fun to spotlight one of my facebook friends every once in a while? Every Thursday? I haven't decided. But I like it. I picked Mr. Wallwork first because he's been on my mind for a while now.

Brief Bio
I stole this from his blog:

Craig Wallwork lives in West Yorkshire, England.  He is the author of the short story collection Quintessence of Dust (KUBOA), and the novels To Die Upon a Kiss (Snubnose Press) and The Sound of Loneliness (Perfect Edge Books).  His fiction has appeared in various anthologies, journals and magazines.  He is the fiction editor at Menacing Hedge Magazine.  *Author Page on Amazon, yo!

*I added that. Read on, you might want to pick up some of his work. :)

How I know him

I don't really know him, know him. As with Facebook friends sometimes there is a tenuous connection. I've never actually met this guy face to face. He belongs in my friends list because I somehow stumbled into this really cool group of writers when I begged my friend Pela Via to let me join Write Club in 2010. ;) It's an uber-cool writer's workshop that I'm not supposed to talk about or something. Anyway, I found myself in this group with a bunch of writers way out of my league who were writing way cool stuff. I didn't get past chapter 2 of my "novel" lol. Meanwhile, Craig and I think everyone else in that group have published several books.

September of that year my husband died. I found myself turning to this group to talk about a lot of stuff. Raw things. Things I don't think I would read now. *shudder* They are some amazing human beings, that group.

Why I've been thinking about him

Don't worry, Mrs. Wallwork! Not that way. I have reached this point, post trauma, that I am trying to piece together the stand-out moments, people, events that galvanized that whole experience for me. And this one was a biggie.

Some background information: My husband died very unexpectedly while we were on vacation. We had just announced to our parents that I was expecting our fifth baby. Just barely pregnant, before you generally announce it. Anyway, it was dark days. Long, cold, blue nights of not being able to sleep. Standing up to hug a million people at the viewing... not being able to eat. And all the while, shouldering this horrible reality, trying to make life as easy for my children as I could, and trying to come to grips that this was actually really happening. After the funeral, I was too exhausted to get out of bed. And then I started cramping. I was sure I was miscarrying. And I felt, at that time, if that happened. I would die. I felt like the baby was the only string holding me to earth. I'm not saying it was rational. And I definitely wouldn't say that my four existing children weren't enough of a connection, I didn't want to die. I just thought that if I lost one more part of BJay just then I would literally stop breathing.

I had to check with him to make sure this happened, because my memory is very wishy washy. I was just a tiny bit worried this was a hallucination. It wasn't!

I got a message from Mr. Wallwork that said something about how he was not a religious person, he hadn't prayed in years, but for some reason he stopped while he was at the gym and said a prayer for me.

I know for a fact lots of people were praying for me. But that prayer seemed like the "Yop" that made all the difference. That gesture felt so big, so incredibly kind. I can't even describe what it felt like. I remember thinking it was all going to be okay. All of it. And that is what it is, right folks? That is why we exist on this planet. For those tiny, but amazing moments when we stretch outside ourselves for a second, beyond all barriers, all the blocks we stack up to make the world make sense to us to reach out and do something that means something to someone else.

I think about that a lot now. In my system of belief, if I'm willing to meet other people where they are. Am I willing to set aside whatever I believe to meet someone in the place that makes sense to them. To really be there in a way that matters to them. I think about it when I know someone is going through a hard time. I don't have to know how to cure cancer to be there for someone who is going through it. I just have to be there. Genuinely, be there.

Along with this non-hallucination came another impression that has stuck with me. I mentioned this at the funeral, I think, and I'm surprised no one put me in an institution. For several days before BJay was buried, I felt like I could still hear him. One of the things he said was that "it is so much bigger than you can imagine." I feel like he meant God's capacity to know and understand all things, as well as the breadth of the whole human experience. THIS. This thing we are a part of, is so much bigger than where we narrowly exist most of the time. It is bigger than we can imagine.

It must be. Because somehow in the web of human existence, I got to form a connection to this fantastic writer and genuinely kind human being who lives all the way across the ocean. Lucky me! And if I never said it before, THANK YOU, Craig. So much.