On Mother's Day

My mother, me, my daughter & granddaughter 2013

I found out today that an old friend of mine died yesterday. She was a year or so younger than me, and now she's gone. Right before Mother's Day, her daughter loses her mama. I should be crying, but aside from my initial shock, I'm not. Maybe I should, but I simply feel numb.

I think of that poor girl spending the rest of her life without her mother, and it saddens me. She and my youngest son grew up together. I've known her mother since they were in kindergarten – fifteen years. I haven't seen her in quite awhile. She had some physical challenges and didn't get out much. She had dogs and cats, so I didn't drop by. Now, she's gone.

This makes me think of how many loved ones have died since January of 2015. We lost my mother-in-law and father-in-law last year. Shortly after my mother-in-law died, I lost another friend of mine, a woman who was also a year or so younger than I. Her son is a year or so older than mine.

Starting in January, I've lost a friend nearly every month. Death of the Month Club is not one I wish to be a part of. It's one thing when the person is in their seventies or eighties, it's quite another when the person is in her mid-fifties.

For these families, and many more, Mother's Day won't be a celebration, but a day spent missing the person they love. There won't be laughter and presents, but a gaping hole in their hearts, which they will try to fill with memories instead.

I feel that way every Father's Day. Everyone so joyful, loving their dads, telling how Daddy is my best friend.... I lost my father over 30 years ago. He never got to see my kids grow up, never met the two younger ones, and they missed out on something special. He wasn't the most openly loving man around, but I knew he loved me. He was funny, snide, brilliant and critical of stupidity. I learned to appreciate the written word because of him, and I still hear his rumbling voice in my head when I edit, especially if I am considering whether or not to cut a page, paragraph or scene. “If you think it needs to go, cut the damn thing!” And he's always right.

I guess the point I'm making is that those we love have moved on, but are still with us in some form or fashion. As long as we have memories of them, however ephemeral or fleeting, they stay in our hearts and minds giving us a smile, a tear or a good laugh.

My heart goes out to these friends and family members who have lost their mothers. You are in my heart and in my prayers today. I feel your loss and I wish there were some magic pill which would bring them back.

I Love Dialogue! Brick McMillan

The following excerpt is from a story I began September 11, 2014, as I boarded my plane in Daytona. I didn't really need another story, but it refused to be still. It's not got a proper title yet, so I named it after the main character, Brick McMillan.

Brick's heading to Daytona from Kansas City for a funeral—the fourth in five years. First his father, then his Aunt Mabel and wife, Danai. Now, his younger brother, Stony, has died under somewhat mysterious circumstances. He's planning to move back to Florida to be near his nieces and nephews, to help raise them as his brother wanted. He also meets one of Stony's co-workers—Colleen. She isn't quite what she seems. Right now, he's out with Colleen and a real estate agent named Stacy.

They pulled up to a comfortable house in one of the closed communities that was back to back with the golf course, separated by a low wall. The house was seashell pink with pale green trim. Brick wasn't sure he liked it. It was the kind of thing that Danai would have loved, but his tastes weren't quite that feminine. Dubious, he allowed the women to coerce him inside. The interior was equally feminine. He wandered around politely, but Stacy could tell he wasn't all that interested.

“It's nice and all, but I feel like I should be hosting a party where we sip chai tea and talk about our periods.” Brick shuddered.

The women laughed, understanding exactly what he meant. Fortunately, neither of them was offended by his remark.

The next house, in another community, wasn't as feminine, but wasn't to his taste either. After looking it over, he stood in the living room, legs spread, arms crossed over his chest.

“Lemme tell ya what I don't want,” he said. “This here?” He made circular motions with his right hand. “Not this. That other place—hell no. Either something ridiculously modern or something old fashioned. This golf course chic or kitschy—shit. . . .” He shook his head, gesturing around himself at the home's interior. “No. Just—no.” He strutted out.

Colleen and Stacy watched his departing form, eyes lingering on his well toned ass. Stacy raised an eyebrow.

“Yum!”

“No kidding! He kissed me earlier.”

“No, he didn't! Oh, my God, was it wonderful?”

“It was worth doing again, that's for sure.”

“Makes me wish I were single.”

They left the house, locking it behind them. Brick was on the phone, leaning against the car, legs crossed at the ankles. His long, lean body was relaxed and casual. A soft smile tugged at his lips.

“Charlie, I can't do that right now. Go to the house and get it.” He paused, listening. “Cause I'm still in Florida. I told you that before I left. I gotta go. Bye now. Love you!” He put the phone in his pocket. “My youngest. Most helpless child on the face of the earth.” He laughed.

“How old is Charlie?”

“She'll be nineteen next month. Looks just like her mother.” His smile faded slightly. “The kids didn't want to come to the funeral.” He swallowed hard. “Too much death. I don't blame them. If I could have avoided this, I wouldn't be here either.” He cleared his throat. “Let's get this circus on the road,” he commanded.