Grief is a universal experience, quiet, lingering, and deeply personal. It shapes us in invisible ways, altering the paths we walk and the stories we tell ourselves. In The Lighthouse, Tom D. Welsh's writing gives readers an unforgettable character in Henry Strong. His journey through profound loss, isolation, and quiet searching mirrors what many of us feel but rarely articulate. Set in the brooding shores of Maine, the book is an impactful novel. It's a meditation on memory, the past, and the things we carry. It's a story about a man haunted by the sea that stole his parents. The night that changed everything, and the mysterious blue light that shines from the Marshall Point Lighthouse, both a warning and a symbol of hope. But what makes Henry's journey so interesting isn't just the mystery or the supernatural undertones. It's the emotional truth at its core: the ache of unresolved grief and the slow, fragile climb toward redemption. Fiction as a Mirror for Grief and Healing In real life, healing rarely comes in a straight line. Like Henry, we stumble. We build walls to protect ourselves. We search for meaning in cryptic signs, in poetry, in the way waves crash against the shore at midnight. Fiction allows us to see this process from a safe distance, and sometimes, that's exactly what we need to start healing. Through Henry's eyes, readers are invited to sit with discomfort. To understand that grief doesn't always look like sobbing in the rain. It can be silence, or obsession, or a wall covered in red yarn and unanswered questions. The Lighthouse doesn't give easy answers. Instead, it reminds us that the past, no matter how painful, can become a source of strength if we choose to face it. Symbols of the Soul Throughout the novel, the lighthouse becomes a character of its own. A haunting light that calls to Henry across the years. Lighthouses, in literature and life, are guardians of those lost at sea. They are symbols of isolation, yes, but also of clarity, illumination, and resilience. For Henry, the lighthouse represents both the trauma of his past and the possibility of finding his way through it. And then there's the sea. Wild, dangerous, beautiful. The sea in the book is memory. It is fate. It is the unknowable part of our own stories, where we bury our regrets and retrieve our deepest truths. Your Story Matters Too What makes The Lighthouse so powerful is that while it's Henry's story, it reflects a truth we all know: we are all carrying something. Maybe it's a loss, a regret, or a longing for clarity. Welsh doesn't just tell a story. He invites us into our own. His prose, combined with poetry by Grayson Wolfe and quiet reflection, encourages us to look inward, to confront our pain, and to find meaning in the wreckage. Fiction, at its best, doesn't just entertain, it heals. It reminds us that we are not alone. That someone, somewhere, understands what it's like to stand at the edge of your life, staring into the storm, and wonder if you can make it through. Takeaway The Lighthouse is a novel that lingers in your soul long after the last page. It's a story for anyone who has ever lost something and fought to find themselves again. Are you ready to begin your own journey of healing and finding the lost answers? Get your copy of The Lighthouse by Tom D. Welsh and let the waves carry you home. Available Now! 

Humanity invented the wheel…it goes round and round. It is said that life is circular… same shit, another day. The more things change… the more they stay the same. The feeling of déjà vu… times have circled back. Today’s games revolve around a circle, often marked by brightly coloured squares, lines, or advertising logos. Our lives are caught in an endless cycle of overwhelming advertising and influencers, and constant information from our phones that never stay at home surrounds us. Disinformation swirls around us like a never-ending toilet bowl, regardless of how we label it. We repeatedly watch and listen to the same news and online influencers, which leads to a lack of balance in our lives. A day in your life, perhaps? Every day, I embark on my routine, often waking up too early, sometimes filled with regret, other times with joy. It feels like a daily pilgrimage to work along winding roads, where a taskmaster oversees the same duties every eight hours, making the experience either tedious or challenging. However, the genuine joy lies in the relationships I build at work. The repetitive nature of this assembly line creates a cycle I complete each day when I travel home, marking yet another one of the five Monday-to-Friday circles of my life. How does one escape the relentless cycle of mundane days? The weight of countless Wednesdays bears down on you. How does one find a Friday? I need to get past Friday to break the work cycle because it is now Saturday, and Saturdays are different. Is Saturday or Sunday different? A question to ask yourself. Saturday often begins with a weekly golf game with friends. This routine typically leads to weekend chores, grocery shopping, taking the kids to their sports activities, and visiting family, creating a familiarity in a cycle that repeats every week. Before the rise of streaming services, my TV schedule dictated my viewing habits, with specific programs airing on certain days and times. For example, I’d watch hockey or basketball on Saturday and enjoy Sunday afternoon football. Advertisers and influencers closely monitor this consistent pattern of viewership to maximize the effectiveness of their marketing efforts. Every Saturday or Sunday, I see people attending the same church. Our food chain is circular. Our favourite meals…our go-to meals…pizza or burgers once a week or more, perhaps fish on Fridays. The same glass of wine or spirits each day after work. Travel to the same grocery store, shopping in the same pattern each week for a menu that never changes much. We have favourite restaurants to have the same meal each time. We eat our meals simultaneously, perched in front of a screen, each day in a circular aspect of our day on a series of circular plates and cups.  The Earth is round, and our moon is a circle that rotates around us in a circular pattern: our home, planet, and the sun. Our galaxy circles something. Our eyes are too round to view a circular world. History is Circular There is the wise saying about history… Those who cannot study history and learn from our past will repeat its mistakes, a circle of centuries of humanity. Then there is the one about crazy… Doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting a different result…is crazy. Some things we must do, and others we choose to do. If there is no thought, there is no progress. If nothing changes, it must be a Wednesday. Wednesday is the hump day of the working week or the apex of a circle. A Wave of One Crashes into Another… There is Spray and Foam (The Play) Act One: (It is a warm sunny day, not a cloud in the sky with the sun reigning above us. An older man, trudging with his head somewhat down, appearing deep in thought. He is carefully gripping a whitish ball about 3” in diameter… tossing it from one hand to another rhythmically appearing hypnotized by the repetition. There is a distinct tense appearance around him. Well, dressed in a blue button-down shirt, no tie, and dust now building on his black highly polished shoes. A perplexed look radiated in his eyes. He walks on this gravel pathway, each step resonating towards a food stand and a purpose not disclosed yet. He stops for a moment…looking forward, as if rethinking his plan, then with a heavy sigh moves forward once more. Appearing deep in his thoughts, chin slightly downward, he walks straight into a young man about 20 years old, of average build, about the same height as him, wearing blue jeans and a holed pullover silk screened with the words “Why Now”. On his feet, well-traveled white sneakers were impatiently waiting to order his drink at a refreshment stand. The young man was unprepared for the coming bump buried in his phone. The man speaks first after the collision.) Older Man: Looking surprised and rehearsed by the impact, he staggers back and regains his balance, looking around and then directly at the young man. “I’m sorry about that. Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?" It seems I was too lost in my thoughts. That was not smart, and I wasn’t getting anywhere with my problem. (At that point, the older man bent down to pick up the ball he had been carrying, which had dropped, now resting at his feet. Then, appearing not to think about it, he wiped that ball in a bit of a ritual show with his hands to remove the grit and sand.) Young Man: (Not wanting to admit that the impact hurt him…a macho thing…as an older man could never hurt him…but that right elbow struck a rib hard, and he was not about to show it as one of his friends was nearby snickering, phone out taking a video he expected.) “I’m okay… no problem…you should watch what you’re doing!” (said with a bit of an edge). Did you hurt your ball? (He said with a sneer as he peered at this close-by friend.) Older Man: “I’m sorry about that. Can I buy you a drink to make up for it?” (He looked embarrassed and anxious, as he was uncomfortable with young men, and this guy looked like he had spent time in the gym. He wanted to leave… second thoughts swirling.) Young Man: “Yes…make it a large Pepsi with lots of ice…I am hungry as well.” (Now pushing his advantage, standing tall and looking directly into the older man’s eyes, almost as if in a test of will.) Older Man: “Are you looking for a hot dog or a slice of pizza?” (The older man wrinkled his forehead and pursed his lips, thinking that this guy was pushing it.) Young Man: “Pizza… pepperoni! What’s with the ball…you carry this everywhere…some kind of shadow like companion…got no friends? What is all that writing on that thing? Some religious things or notes, as you did not have paper for the grocery list.” (Snickering a bit again and smiles over at his watching friend.) The line moved forward, and it was time to order, which the older man did and paid for. He got a small Pepsi and a hot dog for himself. The order came with a period of awkward silence now passed while they waited, with the older man rotating the white ball in his right hand the whole time and staring at it. Others watching in the line…some pointing at him. The young man looked back at his phone in his right hand, engrossed in what was on the screen. His left hand reached to massage his hurt rib. Older Man: “You want to go to that empty table over there?” (Said quickly, regretting it. He was not looking at him but pointing with the right hand and holding the ball. He was unsure if this whole thing was a good idea now, thinking it was time to end this, but his thoughts still lingered, and his plan was in motion.) Act Two… the Table. Two worlds collide Young Man: “Ya…sure…I guess.” (That came out without conviction… he also thought it was time to move on. He was uncomfortable with older men and this one seemed off.…) Off they went, sitting on opposite sides, ensuring they were not directly across from each other. In a rehearsed, dance-like fashion, the older man carefully placed his ball on the tabletop close to his reach, using a couple of napkins to stop it from rolling away, staring at it for a moment, showing its importance. He was also attempting to get the younger man to notice it more. The young man dropped his phone on the tabletop nonchalantly, and the crack against the wood top echoed. The young man’s eyes finally fixed on the ball, noticing it covered in handwriting. Some words were in fading or blurred pen, others in different colors of permanent markers. Perplexing, interesting, but strange. Older Man: “I see you find my ball interesting. I noticed you were somewhat rough with your phone.” (He paused, unsure if he should have said the last sentence. Both returned to their food and drinks for a few moments. Then, out of the silence, curiosity got the better of the young man.) Young Man: “What is all that writing on that ball…why does it appear so important to you? Do you always have that with you?” Older Man: “Yes, it is vital to me… it always has been—and yes; it travels with me always. It is my rock from which I am studying to rebalance my life.” (Looking directly at the younger man and making eye contact became a staring contest. The older man had lots of practice with his grandchildren on staring contests and would not blink.) (Young dropped his head as he lost the staring contest and then said somewhat intrigued…) Young Man: “Interesting…but I don’t get it. What part of your life are you rebalancing with a ball that is a rock? Is this some riddle or puzzle?” Older Man: “Well, I don’t expect you would understand yet…we have seven decades separating us…that is a vast chasm of time. Do you want to know or are you just blowing smoke up my ass to see if it will come out of my mouth at some point? No, it won’t. No videos, please.” (The young man raised his eyebrows, surprised, almost shocked, at that response, and said to himself, “This guy has some issues.” He is not like my grandfather, who mostly sits and drools and talks about some shit of the old days. Act Three…. The Conversation Young Man: “Well then…you seem to have some balls that have not receded completely.” Older Man: “I am not dead yet and have not seen my last sunset, if that is what you mean. I have been ill-natured lately as I have not yet unlocked the secret I seek. So, you want to know about my balls?” You want to have that conversation? You got the itch or the drip down there? (He is snickering now, breaking into a genuine belly laugh. This dude’s strength takes the young man back and looks around to see who is watching.) “Well, hear you go…My life is too circular. You probably don’t get that. Those scribbled words on this ball are a series of life events. I have words on there such as church, work, birthdays, golf, anniversaries that represent my circle of life.” (The older man picked up his ball, smiled, and stuck it right before the younger man’s nose so he could read it. He could not miss it.) Young Man: “I see…I do not know what you’re talking about…this shit is weird to me right now…you okay? You need some help? What is this circular stuff about life…I don’t get that either. You got me…Am I being pranked? Is that asshole Bill involved.” (Looking around, concerned to see if he was on camera or someone is videoing him with a cell phone right now.) Older Man: “I swear some days you young bucks cannot see past your noses. You are too wrapped up in your phones and not what happens daily. Blind as a rock!” Young Man: “Hey look…I got a 4.0 grade average…not a dumb piece of shit here, old man.” (He felt the sting of that last comment and was fighting back now.) Older Man: “Well…you don’t know who I am, do you?” Young Man: “Nope…never seen you before…you are just an old man with walking issues carrying a white ball with letters on it…crazy shit!” (Conversation is getting testy.) Older Man: “Well…I am the dean at that university, where you have a 4.0 grade average.” (At that point, he straightened up from slouching and started paying proper attention.) Young Man: “Shit…Do you know me? Have I been to one of your classes?” (Concern is showing on his face; he is restless on the seat and shuffling his feet under the table.) Older Man: Now having some fun with the situation. “You don’t know, even with your 4.0 average. No, you have not been honored to hear one of my lectures. Too bad for you. Few individuals, including possibly yourself, comprehend that life moves in cycles, and that circularity is a predominant feature in our world. Some days it is a prison. You are all locked up…the weight holding you back…for some there will be no parole ever. Are you one of those?” Young Man: “One of those what? Really…not sure about what you’re selling here. This is out there stuff. I’m not sure where you are heading. I was not looking to get my head read or into a heavy conversation today. Are you a shrink to?” (The young man now looks uncomfortable with all this and is looking for an escape. He picks up his cell phone to check the time and notices three new text messages waiting.) Older Man: “That phone of yours, like the rest of us, you’re ensnared in a vicious cycle; the incessant notifications and pings are a circular siren song, pulling you in… gripping you tightly in a circle for mundane information, instant gratification, conversations that are not actual conversations. Your life cycle is not what is around you but what’s on that screen. I bet the first thing you do when you wake up is reach for your phone. Before lights out…look at your phone…can’t leave the house without your phone and on it goes…it is a circle of your life.” Young Man: “What is wrong with that?” (Looking and turning the phone around in his hands.) Older Man: “You…. We are all trapped in these endless circular patterns. That is why I have been carrying this ball around for some time. I write on it my circular patterns. I finally have those circular patterns figured out in my life. Some trap me like a ball and chain restricting me… holding me back. I seek new wisdom from the travels of fresh paths, new ways. Like a tree…I want new branches to collect new light. Now I must turn this ball into a ball of yarn.” Young Man: “Okay…I’ll play! If I understand this…a ball of yarn is circular.” (The Young man is thinking, rubbing his chin. He is not bored anymore. Something is clicking in his thoughts). Older Man: Smiling now… “Maybe you can now see it…. Think about your circular patterns…are they necessary? Good for you…add value to your life? Do you need to sprout new branches before time hardens you into a thick-skinned bowling ball, a cannon ball with no way to penetrate its surface?” Young Man: “Okay…I will think about that, but what about that ball of yarn thing? I don’t get that. A ball of yarn is still a circle.” Older Man: “Yes, it is…but it is different…you can unwind the ball of yarn…its circle…essentially break the circle…make it smaller, leaving a faint, almost imperceptible trail of disruption for others to follow. I must confess…I bumped into you on purpose…I recognized you from the university…every time I saw you…you were buried, mesmerized by…a virtual save to it…your phone. People walking by you…you could not see them…you were in a closed circle of life. Unfortunately, I must go now…but I will walk a different path back. Enjoy your day!” (The older man gets up and walks away, now holding that ball in his left hand. He is taking a quick peek at it and smiling.) Young Man: He glanced around to see if anyone was watching again. Feeling the urge to check his waiting texts, he reached for his phone. They seemed to call out to him. He hesitated, tapping his fingers on the table. After about 20 seconds, he finally gave in and checked his messages. He tapped on the first message. I did not think you would last long… circular… very circular. Then this… How does one escape the relentless cycle of mundane days? The weight of countless Wednesdays bears down on you…how does one find a Friday? I need to get past Friday to break the circle of work because it is now Saturday, and Saturday is different, right? Circles Will your life go round in circles? Unable to fly… unable to touch the sky My ball and chain, carried every day Closed minds… closed paths Break free, do not relive the past It’s ghosts only remain In the circling dust of the past, I have heard the wind’s music One fine morning I will wake up The circles no longer find home Under my eyes, the dark circles At last, have found a new home - Tom Welsh