Elizabeth G: Precious Memories
Today my friend and fellow romance writer Shirley Jump shares some precious memories of her mother with us. She also shows us where the emotional inspiration comes from for her writing. Shirley's had 26 romance novels or novellas published since January 2003. Her current releases are CHRISTMAS WEDDINGS and MARRY-ME CHRISTMAS from Harlequin Romance. Please join me in welcoming Shirley to Running With Quills.
This week, my mother would have been sixty-one.
I had to write this blog two days ago, because I knew there was no way I could write it the day of her birthday (November 10) and make any kind of sense. My mother died three years and one month ago. I thought that it would get easier, but if anything it’s gotten harder--and easier in other ways. Easier, because I’m starting to accept it and recall more of the happy memories, rather than dwell on the grief. But harder in other ways that hit me when I least expect it. I’m 40, and before my mother died, I’d thought I’d outgrown the need for a mother. Sure, I called her when I screwed up making a pie crust or I was having a difficult day with the kids, but mostly, I’d figured I had this grown-up thing down.
After all, I had been on my own, married, since I was twenty-one. Running my own house. Raising kids, making dinners, shopping, trying to stick to a budget (ha-ha). Whatever could I need a mom for?
You realize pretty quickly what you need a mom for when you don’t have one anymore. My mother and I had our issues, our disagreements, but we were friends. Occasionally she’d call when I was working and I’d find myself wishing that she had waited an hour. Or I tried to get her off the phone because I was on deadline and the work seemed ten times more important than a chat.
Then a stroke took her voice and I spent three months at her bedside, tending to her most basic needs and I realized what I would give to have that voice back. For a little while, she seemed to recover and I could talk to her, sometimes calling her room at the rehab hospital, thrilled she understood me, but then her heart gave out and I lost her voice forever.
It’s been three years and I have yet to delete the phone number to her room on my cell. I know she’s not there, but I can’t erase this reminder of her. When I scroll past the number on my way to call my daughter or my husband at work, I remember I can still talk to her, in a one-way conversation with heaven.
As I raise my own teenage daughter, I realize now how much I need a mother. For the advice, for the sense that I’m not in this alone with the hormones and the mood swings and the joyful moments peppered between the frustrations. I need a mother to tell me I’m on the right path. To hold my hand when I’m sure I’ve alienated my daughter by laying down the law--and to reassure me our relationship will survive these years. Just as my relationship with my mother survived her rules, her protectiveness and most of all the love that circled around me like a blanket, shielding me from so much that could have hurt me during those same years.
But most of all, I need her voice. Her common sense, her wisdom, her soft compassion for bad days, her quiet pride on good days. She has missed a lot in the last two years, in my life, my husband’s, and my kids’, but I believe she is watching from up above. In fact, I’m positive.
At about my age, my mother lost her own mother, ironically, in the fall, too. My mother used to tell me she missed her mother talking to her, the two of them sitting around the kitchen table and talking for hours, long into the night. When my grandmother died, my mother told me Nana would always be watching from heaven. For an eleven-year-old, that became a sort of extra conscience. I’d think twice before I did anything, because I could just picture my Nana seeing me misbehave--and being disappointed.
So, today, I will raise a toast to my mother on her birthday and find a quiet place where we can talk. I’ll tell her all that has happened in the last year, and hope that if I listen very, very carefully, I can still hear the whispers of her voice.
I hope you, too, can share a special moment with those you love and give thanks this holiday season for the loved ones around you.
Hugs,
Shirley
EG: Shirley is going to give away a signed copy of MIRACLE ON CHRISTMAS EVE to one lucky winner from among those who post a comment to her RWQ blog. The winner will be chosen Thursday evening at 7:00 p.m. ET. You can also visit Shirley at http://www.shirleyjump.com/.
This week, my mother would have been sixty-one.I had to write this blog two days ago, because I knew there was no way I could write it the day of her birthday (November 10) and make any kind of sense. My mother died three years and one month ago. I thought that it would get easier, but if anything it’s gotten harder--and easier in other ways. Easier, because I’m starting to accept it and recall more of the happy memories, rather than dwell on the grief. But harder in other ways that hit me when I least expect it. I’m 40, and before my mother died, I’d thought I’d outgrown the need for a mother. Sure, I called her when I screwed up making a pie crust or I was having a difficult day with the kids, but mostly, I’d figured I had this grown-up thing down.
After all, I had been on my own, married, since I was twenty-one. Running my own house. Raising kids, making dinners, shopping, trying to stick to a budget (ha-ha). Whatever could I need a mom for?
You realize pretty quickly what you need a mom for when you don’t have one anymore. My mother and I had our issues, our disagreements, but we were friends. Occasionally she’d call when I was working and I’d find myself wishing that she had waited an hour. Or I tried to get her off the phone because I was on deadline and the work seemed ten times more important than a chat.
Then a stroke took her voice and I spent three months at her bedside, tending to her most basic needs and I realized what I would give to have that voice back. For a little while, she seemed to recover and I could talk to her, sometimes calling her room at the rehab hospital, thrilled she understood me, but then her heart gave out and I lost her voice forever.It’s been three years and I have yet to delete the phone number to her room on my cell. I know she’s not there, but I can’t erase this reminder of her. When I scroll past the number on my way to call my daughter or my husband at work, I remember I can still talk to her, in a one-way conversation with heaven.
As I raise my own teenage daughter, I realize now how much I need a mother. For the advice, for the sense that I’m not in this alone with the hormones and the mood swings and the joyful moments peppered between the frustrations. I need a mother to tell me I’m on the right path. To hold my hand when I’m sure I’ve alienated my daughter by laying down the law--and to reassure me our relationship will survive these years. Just as my relationship with my mother survived her rules, her protectiveness and most of all the love that circled around me like a blanket, shielding me from so much that could have hurt me during those same years.
But most of all, I need her voice. Her common sense, her wisdom, her soft compassion for bad days, her quiet pride on good days. She has missed a lot in the last two years, in my life, my husband’s, and my kids’, but I believe she is watching from up above. In fact, I’m positive.
At about my age, my mother lost her own mother, ironically, in the fall, too. My mother used to tell me she missed her mother talking to her, the two of them sitting around the kitchen table and talking for hours, long into the night. When my grandmother died, my mother told me Nana would always be watching from heaven. For an eleven-year-old, that became a sort of extra conscience. I’d think twice before I did anything, because I could just picture my Nana seeing me misbehave--and being disappointed.
So, today, I will raise a toast to my mother on her birthday and find a quiet place where we can talk. I’ll tell her all that has happened in the last year, and hope that if I listen very, very carefully, I can still hear the whispers of her voice.
I hope you, too, can share a special moment with those you love and give thanks this holiday season for the loved ones around you.
Hugs,
Shirley
EG: Shirley is going to give away a signed copy of MIRACLE ON CHRISTMAS EVE to one lucky winner from among those who post a comment to her RWQ blog. The winner will be chosen Thursday evening at 7:00 p.m. ET. You can also visit Shirley at http://www.shirleyjump.com/.
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posted at 9:00 AM
