I can’t yet go into the details but there is a strong probability that The Volcano Lady: A Fearful Storm Gathering will make it to publication. Oddly enough, I’ve never doubted that. Isn’t that great news?! Yes it is. So what’s wrong?
For all the good news out there that we encounter, our modern minds have been trained to find the bleak lining on our wonderful thunder clouds (I used to watch them with glee as they magnificently floated off to the Midwest from the Rockies. I thought they were inspiring.) I guess I’m no exception. Please don’t misunderstand me: I am excited and happy. This is a dream on the cusp of becoming reality. But once the joy settled in I was reminded of a person I dearly wished I could share this with.
My mother, Mary Margaret, passed away in December of 2006 from that vile thief of a disease, Alzheimer’s. In some ways it wasn’t as bad as one might think: my dear Mum had been a world-class worrier and self sacrificer to the needs of everyone but herself. Once the disease really took over, she wasn’t worrying anymore and everyone took care of her. She had slipped into a mental and spiritual world that needed only the physical support of teddy bear. It was a long battle that frankly my sister fought on a much larger scale. I did the tactical (joining meetings regarding her updates, medications, hospice needs, teddy bear finding services) while my sister did the strategic (nasty legal stuff, selling her house, finding long-term care, wrestling with the state of Colorado, final needs.)
Before the disease struck, Mother and I had done the impossible: we had become friends. Not just any friends, BFF oh my God girlfriends. I could call her any time and she could call me. And when I mentally generated the list of folks I just had to share my good fortune with, she was on the list … only, I can’t call her anymore.
I can’t thank her for the years of bringing home reams of paper that had illegible mimiograph purple smudges on one side but could accept the ribbon ink from the old typewriter on the other. She plucked them from near oblivion to give me a fighting chance at being a teen age writer. Lord knows how many times I asked her to read something I’d plugged together with my high school wisdom and teenage perspective. To her, no word was wasted. No hour was a loss. Just so long as I kept writing. (and drawing, but that’s another story.)
Some might say that she is watching from a place, even now, of spiritual bliss. I think that’s highly likely. Any Deity with half a sense of compassion would never turn away a lady so determined to party with Him/Her. And my mother sure could be the life of the party.
So, okay. Maybe I can’t call on the phone, but I can put my modern nay-saying voices on hold, and contemplate that she does know my pending good news. Perhaps this blog is one way to make that ‘call.’ I don’t know. But I do know that I wouldn’t have gotten here without that old typewriter, mimiograph throw-aways, and a Mother who never said stop. So here’s my shout out to you, Mom. Thank you. And guess what …