Southern Woman on the Skids

  Today my mom is dying. All I could see when I walked  into her room was that little girl. That scruffy little girl sitting in the grass. Smirking at the camera.  I gave her lots of kisses goodbye. One for each grandchild she helped me raise. One for each friend of mine she loved like her own. One for each time she made me laugh. Or yell. Or cry. Or smile. Or feel loved.  Driving home Heather and I saw the most incredible sunset. It was beautiful and messy and bright and clinging to its moment in the sky.  I will remember beautiful loud Christmas Eve parties. Her quiet strength with Ziggy and Charlie. How she loved my friends. That she was flawed but always full of generosity. I will try my best to do her proud. 

  I am jumping back into my edits. The dream agent moment has passed and so I am just putting my head down and doing the work of writing again. My friend and editor has given me some great work to dig into so I am going to just put in my slippers, pour some more coffee and write. All the while the one year old has been talking. I’m serious. She can now say all kinds of things. Dog. Eat. Door. Ball. Mama. Dads. Baba. Arlie. Iggy. Uh Oh. Night night and book.  Zig has settled on about three colleges and is driven to make that future unfold. Charlie has a new sweet friend that she is excited about. And my Rob is healing.  It’s humbling to watch him. I couldn’t do it. But he faces each day with humor and grace and still makes me laugh. And blush.  I am so happy the holidays are here. The house is filled with music and cooking and that feels healing to me.  Now back to writing.