I didn't write for a year after she passed. I couldn't. It was our dream. How could I carry it on without her? She was the one who dreamed of writing long before I was born. It was a dream and a love she passed on to me, but it didn't feel right to do it without her and how could I gauge if my writing was any good or not without her there to show me?
I was bemoaning this to my sweet friend Laura one night that one of the things I wanted to do the most was impossible. I wanted to sit down with my mother and read my ARCs to her. I wanted her to see this finished thing we'd done. Laura's response? "Then do it! My grandma talks to her mom all the time. She sits down with her picture and tells her all about her day."
It really got me thinking. Would it really be so crazy to read my story to my mom? The picture above was so her, it's almost like she's sitting in the room with me listening. It's so real it almost moves. I can imagine her nodding at me. Can feel her hand on my own telling me I'd done a good job, just looking at it, so why not give it a try.
Tonight, I did just that. I opened up the picture of her on my desktop and put my ARC right next to it and started reading aloud. It has been one of the most therapeutic acts I have performed, aside from writing letters to her. See, it doesn't matter if she has a body or not. I believe in an afterlife and I know with all my heart that she's not far away, and though she may not be able to sit through all of my reading, because I'm sure she's a busy lady, I know she hears parts. I can feel as if she is here as I read.
That may sound completely wacko to somebody else, but I don't care. It makes me happy to read to my mom and that's all that matters to me. It's just one more way I can connect with her and ease the ache of her loss, and for that I am extremely grateful.
Quote of the Day: "The pen is the tongue of the mind."
Miguel de Cervantes