Home
About
Books
- Map of Wayfair
Blog
Contact
Newsletter

Vona Stewart

Primary Menu

Home
About
Books
- Map of Wayfair
Blog
Contact
Newsletter

The Lost Sapphire of Azure Isle – Excerpt

Version 1.0
Download 18
File Size 1.01 MB
File Count 1
Create Date February 24, 2020
Last Updated April 26, 2020

GET A FREE SHORT STORY!

Find out how the mysterious “W” you meet in The Lost Emerald of Briarwood risked her life to steal the jewels from the president’s crown.

Enter your best email address to instantly receive the exclusive short story, The Sacrifice of Wilhelmina.

Thank you!

You have successfully joined our subscriber list.

About Vona

Read the bio...

^

Find the author

Follow on Amazon

Instagram

soverymom

This isn’t meant to be a grief song, but this pa

This isn’t meant to be a grief song, but this part fits perfectly.
I’ll love you way after forever.
If the earth ends, I’ll love you in space.
#profoundloss #griefhurts #griefsucks #griefsupport #griefislove #griefandhealing #grievingprocess #griefrecovery #dealingwithgrief #copingwithgrief #loveandloss #normalizegrief #griefawareness #griefandloss #widowlife #widows #lifeafterloss #widow #youngwidow #youngishwidow #griefjourney #widowspeak #partnerloss #widowshelpingwidows #grief #loss #lossofalovedone #griefcycle

Earthquakes aren’t all that common where I grew

Earthquakes aren’t all that common where I grew up in the shadows of the Wasatch Mountains, but that didn’t stop my dad from warning anyone shopping around for a house, “Careful, that address is right on a fault line. If there’s an earthquake—“ He’d trail off, letting you imagine.
We moved our little family away from the 240 mile long fault, but the earthquake still got us.
Eric’s death tore the ground beneath our feet to ribbons. Time is only widening those fissures, turning them into deep, echoing chasms. We are here, on one side of the ever broadening canyon, while he is standing on the other side. Once, we could see him waving, but he’s growing smaller and smaller. The sound of his voice is snatched away on the wind; and the messages we try to hurl across plummet into the black pit between us, disappearing without a crash or splash.
I have miserable dreams where all I’m doing is kneeling at the edge of a bottomless abyss, trying to build bridges out of toothpicks and popsicle sticks. In one, I have a long, silver bow, and I am firing arrow after arrow tied to a large spool of string at my feet. “If my arrow reaches you,” I scream across the canyon, “just hold on and I’ll reel you in.” I wake up with my fists tight, clutching invisible and useless tools, and I know it is impossible. I know he is gone.
I hate how time marches on. I hate how every day takes us farther and farther away from our life with him. I don’t miss the raw early days and weeks and months of the first year, but I hate how the absence of him is now normal.
What a lot to write on a silly little reel. 💔❤️‍🩹 #grief #widow

I know I’ve already posted these elsewhere… th

I know I’ve already posted these elsewhere… they’re just some of my favorites. I am kind of hoping we reach January quickly. 2022 can suck it. 🌚

Two years. 💔
Hell Week includes my daughter’s birthday she no longer wants to celebrate (too close to dad’s year time), Thanksgiving (the holiday he died on), and, because the stupid holiday moves around on the calendar, we also have the date he died. This year, it’s on Saturday. Today.
I spent weeks trying to write a blog post for this anniversary, but it became a 10,000 word essay. When I tried editing it down, it grew five more heads and now sits at 25,000 words. If I manage to tame the beast, I’ll let you know.
Other widows warned me the second year is even harder. I’m not sure I can sum it up so neatly (see my propensity to word barf in 25k quantities). It has been both more difficult and a little easier. Easier in that it is less raw. Harder in that the more time that passes, the farther we get from the time he lived beside us—and that hurts in ways that are difficult to describe. Time is cruel like that. It just keeps going whether we want it to or not.
I asked my youngest if two years felt like it had gone by fast or slow. He thought for a second and said, “Neither. It just feels like it doesn’t make sense.”
I think it’s a combo for the rest of us. Some things, like my oldest’s mental health crisis after Eric died feels like it happened a hundred years ago. Other things, like Eric singing Happy Birthday to his daughter feels like it might have happened yesterday.
But we all agree that none of it makes sense. I’m a broken record, but time truly loses all meaning in grief. I personally feel like I am living in the here and now, but also in my memories. I think living half in the past turns time even more on its head, but it’s all I have now. It’s not like I can turn it off.
We made these candles with cotton wicks for Eric's year two 'cotton anniversary.' Last year was paper--we made paper boats out of letters we wrote to him. The themed anniversaries are for wedding anniversaries, but I decided to use them in death for ideas to mark his year time.
Well, I feel just as unsettled and dissatisfied with this attempt as I do the unwieldy novellas, but here we are.
I miss you, Eric. You were bigger than the whole sky.

In my most recent dream of you, we were in a libra

In my most recent dream of you, we were in a library. We were holding hands, reading the cracked leather spines. But then water was rising around our ankles, filling the beautiful library and soaking all the precious books. It rose so fast, in a blink you were drowning.
I started performing CPR while we were still submerged. Dreams are weird that way. I just knew it was the most important thing for me to do--to breathe for you. As soon as I had air in your lungs, I swam, heaving you onto the second floor where it was dry. My chest compressions were perfect; not at all like the frenzied, panicked ones I performed the night you died.
You choked & vomited, sucking in air through cold, pale lips. Your eyes opened & you reached for me.
That’s where the dream ended. I woke, sobbing.
I never dream of you as often as I want. There have only been a handful of dreams, really. Some of them are tense and scary, but there’s incredible relief when I manage to save you. I'd endure a million nightmares just to get to that point, even if I can’t hold onto it. Even if I wake up and remember all over again that you're gone.
I will always wish I could have breathed for you in real life. I would have given you my lungs, my oxygen, my anything and everything.
Once I had a dream that you were given a choice. A strange creature made of starlight met you in a sky painted with the greens and blues of a splendorous aurora borealis. The creature told you it wasn't your time, that they had come for me instead. You asked, "If I go with you, can she stay?" The creature accepted the bargain, and you cried because you were leaving us, but firm in your belief that it was for the best. If one of us had to go, you wanted it to be you.
Nothing about the dream felt like a real or true message from the beyond; it was just my brain struggling to make sense of the senseless. But I still woke up crying hot, angry tears. Because that's absolutely something you would have done. It's something I would have done, too. And it's both sad and funny, isn't it? Both of us believe the other to be the better parent; to be the one the children need most.
But the truth is, they need us both. 💔

Trying out the new camera. 📸 Ended up with the

Trying out the new camera. 📸 Ended up with the Canon EOS R7. The sales guy at B&H tried to talk me into the R10, but I just don’t think I’m a good enough amateur to justify the price. As far as upgrading from my old Rebel T3, this one feels comfortably similar. It was lovely to have a ‘real’ outfit in my hands again.
Took a drive up to the reservoir after a funeral Saturday sent me into a grief spiral. Thought for sure I’d missed the fall colors, but scored some gold. Always nice to sob one’s eyes out in pretty surroundings.
Snapped J & N performing the arduous labor of digging out errant patches of grass in the flower beds when I got home which made me very nostalgic for those mommyblogging days when I faithfully documented everything.
Anyway, this purchase (with remote!) will hopefully give me a kick in the shorts to go take some (Eric-less 💔) family photos. No good way to end this pseudo mini blog, other than to say my oldest turned 21 (what? how?) today! Maybe he’ll let me post some baby photos after we pick up his favorite Thai noodles. Xo.

Load More... Follow on Instagram

GoodReads

© 2023 by Vona Stewart
Privacy Policy | Whitelist Instructions
Website by GoCreate.me

This site includes affiliate links. As an affiliate of these programs and as an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases. Amazon and the Amazon logo are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc. or its affiliates.