STICK AROUND
Surviving Grief, Finding Grace, and Telling the Whole Damn Story Anyway
Saturday, July 26, 2025. I went into Walgreens for some press-on nails and a few snacks for the road. I was headed to Dahlonega the next morning. Sunday. Off to “Christmas in a Small Town,” their first ever. My dear friend Melissa Kerley had invited me. We’d met at the Story Summit Hollywood Field Trip back in May. Swapped numbers. Promised to stay in touch. Somehow, we did.
That trip to Hollywood cracked something open in me. I’d formed a bond with people who didn’t just say they cared… they showed it. Writers. Dreamers. Survivors. People like me. And something about all of us trying to hold onto the same light made it feel like family.
But let me go back to that Saturday.
I’m standing in Walgreens, weaving through aisles, looking for snacks that aren’t priced like airport food. That’s when I see the clerk. She’s trying to hide it, but pain is written all over her body. Her head’s tilted to the side like her neck’s frozen. Her eyes are glassy, jaw clenched.
I ask her gently, “You okay?”
“No,” she says. “My neck’s killing me. I can’t bend it.”
I felt it in my own body. “Oh my God,” I said. “I’m so sorry you’re in so much pain.”
She gave me a look like, Why do you care this much? Like I was being too much. And maybe I was. But I didn’t care.
“I know what that kind of pain feels like,” I told her. “I’ve struggled with my neck and shoulders for years. It’s brutal.”
She sighed. “Doctor said it’s a pinched nerve. Gave me some pills, but they’re not working.”
“I get it,” I said. Then I told her about Heal-n-Soothe. Her ears perked up. She leaned in. I had her full attention now. We started talking like old friends in the middle of Walgreens… trading remedies, warning each other about the meds that don’t work and the ones that do.
She walked with me through the store… neck frozen, still in pain, and lit up telling me about a homeopathic cold remedy called Oscillococcinum. “It’ll knock a cold right out,” she said, like it was gospel.
We exchanged numbers. Her name was Cathy Beck. I told her mine… Naz. That night I sent her a photo of the Heal-n-Soothe bottle and a link to order it. She texted me back, calling me a “dear friend.” We’d only just met. But something about that moment was real.
The next morning, I made the drive to Dahlonega. I spent time with Melissa and met her amazing team. The ride back was long, two hours there, two hours back, but my spirit was lifted.
That night, I saw Julie Cantrell’s post about the final day to apply for a Her Spirit Women’s Writing Retreat scholarship. I applied on a whim. Weeks later, I learned I’d been awarded the scholarship, along with my fellow summiteer, Lisa Finn. I was stunned. Me? I never win anything.
That retreat changed me.
Somewhere between the writing workshops, heart-to-hearts, and healing moments at Her Spirit, I got a message from home: my niece had been born. August 25th. I’d gained a niece while I was gaining pieces of myself back, too.
I saw faces I hadn’t seen since Hollywood… Julie Cantrell, Stacey Powells, Michelle Cowan. Michelle and I had clicked from the start. In Hollywood, she handed me her signed book and told me all about the Okoboji Writers’ Retreat. She said I should come.
Now we were sitting in the lobby in Santa Cruz, catching up. She brought up Okoboji again.
“I can’t afford it,” I said.
She didn’t blink. “There’s a scholarship.”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t. I’m already here on one.”
She didn’t argue. Just pulled out her phone and texted Julie Gammack.
Minutes later, a reply: “Yes.”
Just like that.
But I couldn’t celebrate. Something in me shut down. I was too worried about how it would look… getting two scholarships. I didn’t want people to think I was taking advantage. It’s strange how guilt can creep in even when you’ve done nothing wrong.
How many times do we let the fear of what people might think rob us of joy? How many times do we keep our mouths shut, keep ourselves small, just to stay safe?
But God didn’t let it go.
Back home, I started writing again. Really writing. Pages that had been stuck for months started moving. But the numbers didn’t lie. Even with the scholarship, I couldn’t afford the trip. I emailed Julie Gammack (Julie G.) to thank her and let her know I wouldn’t be able to attend. I told Michelle too. They both said they understood.
And then came another message. Julie G. reached out. I’m paraphrasing here, but the heart of her message was, “I want you there.”
And that’s when my heart cracked open again.
Julie G. and Julie Klein (Julie-bird), offered to help with travel. Julie-bird texted, asking what snacks I liked and if I had allergies. She said she’s picking me up from the airport and we’re driving to Okoboji together. Julie G. invited me to the reception. I’ve got a room on the lake. All of this love. All of this grace.
This is God. This is what God does.
Last August I flew to New York and ended up tracing every place I’d ever lived. I hadn’t planned it… it just unfolded. It felt like walking through the memories of a life I hadn’t fully made peace with. I’ll write about that soon.
My mom and stepdad, Wiley, picked me up from my sister’s place. We picked up my cousin Linda, went out to breakfast. Wiley ended up driving me all the way to Stamford, Connecticut. I thought he’d just drop me at the train, but he took me the full way.
That was the last time I saw him.
Three months later, I got the call. Wiley was in the hospital… emergency surgery. We spoke. He sounded strong. He had the procedure. We spoke again. Still strong. Then I got another call… he’d gone into cardiac arrest. A blood clot had hit his lungs and heart. They resuscitated him for 50 minutes.
My stomach dropped. Fifty minutes is too long. Too long without oxygen. But Wiley had been shot 12 times and lived. Once, they even rolled him to the morgue and he woke up under the sheet. I thought, He’s going to make it.
I sat on my couch, praying, calling, waiting. Then came the final call.
He was gone.
No brain activity. They took him off life support.
Then, something even harder: my mother cut me off. Not just me—all her children. Except the one she lives with. She vanished from all of us after the funeral. This is a woman who once told me, “If I hadn’t been on drugs, I wouldn’t have had you.”
So I lost two parents at once. One to death. One to abandonment.
I cried constantly. I didn’t even realize I was grieving two parents. I didn’t realize how deep the grief had dug into me until I couldn’t get off the couch.
Depression had me by the throat.
It’s not easy loving a sociopath. And my mother is one. I’ve made peace with that. I can’t let her back in. I won’t survive it. But knowing that doesn’t stop the heartbreak.
Then, God sent me a dog. She needed me just as much as I needed her.
She got me off that couch. Got me outside. We walked. We played. I cooked for her, drove her to the dog park, the trail, the lake. I taught her tricks. I laughed again. My heart softened.
Then one day, scrolling Facebook, I saw a free class from Margaret South… Story Summit’s beat sheet session. I took it. Got hooked. Joined the Summit. Then came Hollywood. Then came Her Spirit. Then came Okoboji.
Which brings me back to today… September 27, 2025.
I went to Walgreens to print photos. First thing I did was look for Cathy Beck. I hadn’t heard from her since I texted her the Heal-n-Soothe info on August 11th. I wanted to know if it helped.
But Cathy wasn’t there.
I ordered my photos, ran errands, came back thirty minutes later to pick them up. That’s when I saw the display… Cathy’s smiling face in a collage, with the words “Rest in Peace” above it.
She passed away on August 2nd.
Seven days after we met.
I walked out of Walgreens with my chest cracked open.
Heartbroken. And grateful.
Grateful for every day God lets me wake up. For every person He places in my path. For every conversation that shifts something inside me. For every crack in my armor that lets in the light.
I’m going to Okoboji. I’m being lifted up by a writing community that refuses to let me fall. They are healing me. God is healing me.
I’m rewriting my first book… with structure. And I’ve started my second: Not the Only One.
This journey? It’s messy. It’s beautiful. And I’m still in it.
This is Suicide Prevention Month. And I’m still here. I choose life. I choose joy. I choose to write it all out… laugh it out, cry it out, scream it out. I will put it on the page. Every last word.
And no more shame. No more second-guessing whether I deserve kindness. No more shrinking when God says expand.
I don’t know what you’ll take from this. Maybe it feels like too much. Maybe it’s all over the place. But if there’s one thing I want you to remember…
Live fearlessly.
Don’t let fear rob you of what God has already placed in your hands.
And if you’re on the couch, stuck in the dark, unsure if it’s worth sticking around…
Get up.
Look around.
Stick around.
God hears you.
He is near to the brokenhearted.
Brighter days are ahead.
Note from Naz: I wrote this on September 27, 2025, but I never posted it, until now. Some stories take a little time to find their moment. Thanks for reading.
So powerful!
Love your writing ✍️ and love you. Beautiful and inspiring and full of wisdom.