Just when I thought I had moved on, was on solid ground, didn’t have anything to say, something else comes to mind. As a lot of us are, I am huge on family. My family is my world. Now that includes many people who are not blood related family. Family is the people that you love and that love you. You surround yourself with them and them with you.
November is a tough month for my family. We lost are family corner stone. My Mom. It was 2015 so for us the wound is still fresh. My Mom was my best friend, a great person and a loving giver. My Mom was also the ultimate horror fan. Oh my goodness how she loved the old black and white horror films. She devoured Stephen King, John Saul, Dean Knoontz, John Grisham and the likes. She came up with this awesome story idea for a book. I encouraged her to write it down. Somewhere in the home that we shared I’m sure lays that manuscript. In trying to get her to write it down, I started my writing journey.
She read many of my stories before she lefts us. She actually liked many of my stories. I planned to become this world wide famous writer to please her and make her proud of me. Of course silly me, she was proud. She was proud of me, my two sisters and my two nephews. My proudest momnet came and sealed my fate as a writer when I wrote my book. In The Footsteps of a Killer. I told her about it before I started it and she said “go for it”. I did.
Once my first draft was done I gave it to her to read. She read it in one day. That was the type of reader she was. She could take a 500 page book and would have to force herself to put it down so that she could make the read last longer. She also had a nack for figuring out “who did it”. Wether it was a book she was reading or a television show that she was watching. We would watch with her and she woud say, “He did it” and we would all groan. “Ma, don’t tell us,” The movie would end and she would be right. It became a family joke. I was in the basement when I heard a thump on the floor. Her signal for whoever was in the basement to come up to her room. Answearing the thump I went to her room. She says that she’s finished my book. No surprise to me. So I asked her, “What did she think? Did she like it?” Her response was the catlyist that moves me still to this day.
Mom sets the manuscript down on her lap. She looks up at me with a smile on her face then says, “First, let me ask you something? Did I do this to you?” I looked at her and smiled, “Umm, yeah Blanche, ya did.” Mom’s name was Gwen.” We laughed. She said through tears of laughter, “I loved the shit out of it. I thought I had it figured out but that was not the ending I was expecting. You got me with that. Yeah this is good.” That was it for me. Having her see me published was now my lifes priority. I found a publisher and Mom was able to see my book as a published novel before she left us. I dedicated that book to her.
Mom, we miss you so much but we know that your heart and love is always with us. as I type this now my tears flow. I stop typing for a moment to breathe and catch myself. It’s been 6 years and I’m 60 years old and yes I still miss and cry. Just when I thought I had my shit together, my head in the right direction, had moved on. You don’t move on but you do move. I move in the direction that she has steered me. Mom always knows best for her children and I am her child. To my sisters and nephews, you know her spirit lives on in each of us. You know that she wants you happy. You know that you are her children and that she is proud of the adults that you all are. We never move on past the hurt but you do move. Move and love and remember her with a smile.