Today, I’m thinking about my mother.
Not that I don’t think about her every day. I do, more times than I can count. It’s been several years since she passed away, and I’ve never given up the habit of talking to her inside my head. I used to do that, even while she was alive. We talked on the phone all the time. But I’d mentally tell her stories in between calls, so I wouldn’t forget them when we connected again.
Now that my first book has been published, it’s really hard not to think about her. She loved my writing and was thrilled when I told her I'd started a novel. I was working on one for my son back then, years ago, and would send her a chapter every so often. I cringe when I think about the poor quality (that book was more or less training ground for Gambit), but I’ll never forget when she read the prologue. The phone rang immediately, and there she was, on the other end.
“Cary, this sounds like a real novel,” she said, out of breath. “Like one I’d pick up in a bookstore!"
I remember laughing, because she sounded so surprised. I think it was because she hadn’t read anything other than my high school stories, which were childish and unrefined. But it was my first compliment—that surprised breathlessness echoing over the phone—as an adult writer. And as I was basking in it, her voice came again.
“Sweet thing, I always knew you could do this.”
God bless her. She knew my heart. We were different as night and day, but that woman knew my heart. And if she were alive right now, she’d be shouting about Gambit from the rooftops. I can sort of picture her at the courthouse (where she worked), a pile of my books on the counter, telling everyone she knew. Even the inmates that shuffle through on occasion.
“Oh, you’re doing time? Here, read this. My daughter wrote it, and it’ll take your mind off the drug charges.”
Yeah, go ahead and laugh. But that was just my mom. Sweet and crazy and fun.
And one way of keeping her memory alive was to put her in Gambit. If you happen to read it, pay close attention to Willow’s mum, Patchie. She resembles my mother in many ways. She’s a woman of faith with a quick smile and a very tender heart. An angel, through and through.
So, as I think about my mother today, I find myself battling both sadness and relief. Sadness that I can’t share this accomplishment with her. And relief that I made her a part of something she’d be so proud of. It’s my way of preserving her memory. Well, that and talking to her inside my head. :)
Oh, Mom. I really miss you. Especially how you called me sweet thing and knew my heart. See you again someday, k? In the meantime, know that I think of you.
Every single day.
Photo credit: http://bit.ly/1P8HMGb
