She was my first home. We were an island. That was before the world called out to me. Inhale. Breathe. Live.
I buried my beloved mother, my friend. It was very sudden, unexpected, and brutal. A massive stroke.
My brain was so shaken, shocked, engulfed with pain, I couldn’t arrange a coherent thought, much less a sentence. And to make it worse, I had no time to negotiate with God. It was already too late. There was no hope for her recovery.
She lay in a restful coma as my sisters and I circled her bed. We took turns sliding next to her, snuggling against her limp body like baby kittens. We were a pathetic mess.
Willie Nelson (her favorite) sang from the bedside table. Either golf, or tennis, flickered from a muted TV across the room. She liked golf, tennis, and television. We gave her all three.
We quibbled -Deborah, Gina and I- over little things. How best to arrange pillows under her head, knees, and left hip? Which organic nightgown was her favorite? Was the quilt from home too warm, or not warm enough? Was the room too quiet? Each daughter had an opinion on what could make their mother more comfortable, content, happier.
Nothing, you stupid girls. Nothing! She must have thought.
We didn’t’ know what to do. So, we did the only thing we could. Fuss. Worry. Cry. Sit. Stare, Argue. Cry again.
If the room was too quiet I grew uneasy. That made me babble.
“Maybe I’ll write a reality show, starring mama and her three crazy daughters. You know, make the setting a hospice house. I’ll call it Southern Crazy.” My sisters looked up, then sad laughed with me.
I looked away from their tired faces to the birdhouse outside my mother’s window. A red cardinal was watching me, so I watched her. She fed from her tiny house, looked to me, then turned back to feasting. I looked beyond her to the peaceful garden, manicured greenery, and the serene water features. There was such beauty outside that window and our stale room. I craved the cardinal’s fortune.
“I could make it funny, you know, write some humor around the pain and suffering.” I looked over and saw neither sister listening, both were busy texting. I hushed and retreated back to the quiet stillness, just staring at my mother’s face.
When it was my turn to stay the night, I would slide next to my mother and whisper prayers against her ear. Then I would tell her she was doing better. Lies and prayers, intertwined. I couldn’t let her believe she was dying. Or be afraid, anxious, or sad. I simply couldn’t.
She lingered for days, then another week. We groomed our mother like a Barbie doll: brushing her hair, applying organic gloss to her parched lips, rubbing her arms, legs, hands and feet with lavender lotion. It was horrific, yet beautiful; painful, yet peaceful; cold, yet welcoming.
I roamed at night wearing my slippers and nightgown, visiting with perfect strangers. My hair was a rat’s nest, my eyes mimicking a racoon. A scary raccoon. The Hospice House began to feel like home. The other sufferers– also roaming– were like my big, sad family. We belonged to one another, though we didn’t even know each other’s name.
It was noon the following day when I told my sisters I needed to run home, shower, change into fresh clothes. Should I go? I was hesitant to leave, even for 30-45 minutes. “Go.” They said in unison. I had been up all night. Leaning forward I kissed my mother’s cheek. “I’ll be right back, mama.” I promised.
I was inconsolable when I returned to the reality before me. My mother left my world while I was brushing my teeth.
“Prissy, I swear, she waited for you to leave.” Gina pleaded through my wailing. Everyone tried to console me: my husband, sisters, daughters, and staff. But there were no words to unburden my guilt. I left my mother.
Death is a bully. It steals energy, strength and will and marches on. Then grief, the sidekick, shows up. It moves in and takes residence. This nasty, ugly leech adhered to my broken heart, mooching away the very essence of me.
I tried to remember how long it took after Boone died. When did my heart stop aching and the lump in my throat dissolve? When could I gaze at the blue sky with white clouds and not be sad? Or cry. I pushed those painful memories deep in the crevices of my brain. I no longer remembered. How long… how long… how long.
Time heals grief. But grief is unilateral. It targets each person differently. Everyone punched with horrific pain, just in different formats. I’m not tough, or strong. I never was.
I wrote and delivered my mother’s eulogy at her funeral. It was surreal. After that, I lost my desire to ever write again. Days, weeks, months passed as I moved through life in a daze.
Then, a few weeks ago, I was nudged awake from my pharmaceutical sleep. Was it my mother’s voice I heard, or was I dreaming? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Something changed inside me during the night. I woke up feeling more like myself. The urge to write had re-seeded, or maybe, it just returned. I knew, as I lay staring at the ceiling, my mother knew me better than I knew myself. She knew watching her slip away would mirror Boone. And just like Boone- over-protective- she waited for me to leave her before she left me.
I threw off my coverlet and slipped from the crinkled sheets. I needed to write. Perhaps, if only to honor my mother’s message.
As I passed through the pantry I grabbed a protein bar. Weary, but determined, my Luna bar, espresso and I shuffled into my home office. I turned on the lights and spotted the abandoned chair waiting in front of my computer. I settled in and booted up, sipping and chewing as I watched the monitor come to life. The lemon-flavored bar, fused with dark roasted espresso, soothed my pallet. I rested my shaky hands on the keyboard and began searching.
I found the essay I’d been working on before my mother died. After two more cups of coffee I finished. Every paragraph rewritten, edited, honed, and polished. It seemed fresher, more promising. My eyes were scratchy and dry from staring at the monitor screen. I needed a break. I saved my file and left to shower and dress.
I walked back in, reread, and left again, then back once more. How long did I hesitate, second-guessing myself? A good while. Finally, I hit send and blew out my inhaled breath.
A few days later an email arrived.
Flamingo , a brilliant Florida magazine, accepted my piece. It will be published in the Fall issue.
I was liberated, rejuvenated and hopeful- in the same moment. Grief lost. I won. I decided not to let it steal another day from my blessed life. Despite the separation from my mother, I would, once again, Inhale. Breathe. Live.
It is, after all, the circularity of life.
I read an article by Matthew Norman, author of We’re All Damaged. In it, he wrote, ” I tend to see the world through a humor lens. I use it as a defense mechanism. That may be a personality flaw, but it makes me the writer I am.”
When I read his words, I felt I knew this man I never met. His thoughts mimicked mine. He searches for humor through pain. And why? Just because. His reasoning is defense. Mine is survival. And so, I’ll find some humor in my devasting loss.
Dad-gum-it, Mama! Nobody wants your stuff! * Not the marble statues, the mahogany furniture, your porcelain china, the sterling silver, the massive oil paintings, or those portraits of our dead relatives.
Stuff after a loved one’s death is humorous. Sort of. Kind of.
Parent’s treasures: ‘Oh My’ and ‘Ugh” fused together!
Estates, Liquidating, Settling and selling …blah, blah, blah. Call it what you want. Wait until you are in the midst of it and see what you call it:
Possessions/stuff/crap! It’s all the same game.
If you are still reading this post, please listen. Be kind to your children. They do not want your stuff. Neither do estate folks, antique shops or collectors. Our children are not collectors. Most of them are minimalists. They want new technology, Restoration Hardware, IKEA, and designer clothes while driving massive SUV’s.
And all these dolls! What the heck, heck, heck?
Well…ugh…okay! I’m 100% to blame. I made my sweet mama a Victorian doll thirty-years-ago.
Yep, the one pictured below. Shoot me now!
That started her collecting the’collections’ of more ‘collections’.
I guess I’m to blame.Well, not this me, the one writing this post. It was the other me, the one who made the doll. The Prissy in Far Outside the Ordinary. That Prissy and this Prissy are two different species. Trust me.
That one smocked little girls’ dresses, made porcelain dolls, dressed them in clothes made with her own hands. She rolled and whipped edges and seams of imported batiste fabric creating heirloom dresses. She threaded silk ribbon through antique lace bonnets and crowned their heads. She loved designing clothes and watching life spring from the dolls’ composite bodies. This me is NOT that me. Nada, none, done!
And now, this here me has these dang dolls sitting inside her curio cabinet, smiling from lips I painted, and wearing those elegant clothes I made. They are all signed, dated, and gifted to Garrett or Sara Britton (my precious daughters) in equal division. So, why do I still have them -after decades -you wonder? Yeah, well, me too. Drum roll…they do not want them! And guess what…. I do not want my mother’s dolls either.
Wake-up to a new era. Nobody wants nobody’s stuff.
Should anyone reading know a ‘Doll Collector’ out there…please, do tell!
Okay, enough stuff about stuff. You get the picture(S)
Soooooooooooo….ABOUT that second book of mine. You know, the sequel to Far Outside the Ordinary, the one you think I will never finish and you will never read.
My mother asked every single day. “Prissy, have you finished the book?” I had three different answers for her sweet self. It depended on the day and my mood. “Almost.” “Not quite.” “Close.”
She was anxious. But, I procrastinated. Writers do that. I should have finished my book before she died. I regret that so much. Honestly, if 2017 had been kinder to me, if death hadn’t stolen my mother. If. If. If.
But, after my recent dream, and her visit, whatever it was, I’m feeling more steady, creative and ambitious. I’ve accomplished two projects in two weeks: I have a title for the sequel and a gorgeous cover. Thanks to the talented, Katie Campbell, my genius graphic designer/artist.
And my manuscript is nearing completion. See, Mama, I really was closer than you thought.
I read my horoscope this morning- uncanny, don’t you think? And, yes, I read it every day. Please don’t judge me:-) 
I don’t know about you right now, but I’ve had enough of me. With that said… I’m so very grateful for your support and patience. Hang with me and I’ll do my very best to never disappoint you.
Cheers and hugs!
Prissy
Prissy I am so very sad for you and will pray for all of you.
Thank-you, Joyce. XO
Dearest Prissy, OKKKKKKKKKKKKK, you had me in chill bumps and then tearing, to out right
crying. The whole bottom lip poked out and quivering. I am still crying…
You are an amazing writer and individual sweet talented friend. I can’t wait to read your
new book. Know it is going to be great because you wouldn’t stop until it is…..
Love you,
Betty
You are so dear! Thank you sweet friend. XOXO
Prissy,
I’m so sorry to hear about your loss. Somehow I never heard about it. I really loved reading your essay that so beautifully described all of these emotions that we all face in our lives. I am so happy that you are doing well now, and I can’t wait for your new book!
Thank you so much for reaching out, Linda. XO
Awe Prissy, you are so gifted, your mother would never want you to waste your gift. Onward bound, dear Prissy….love to you, Sally B.
Thanks, Sally-
I adore you!
Perfection! 😘
Love you—sorry I missed your call. I was at Allie Boone’s Young Actor’s Guild performance… lifting up my heart.
Talk tomorrow:-)
Prissy….your words are so touching and elequent! You paint such a beautiful picture… even in the face of sadness and despair. You are such a gifted and talented author/writer. May your words always take flight so that we may enjoy your journey too. Thanks for being your beautiful, southern, organic self! Love you!
Love you, Rhonda. You ALWAYS say the right thing. You are the gifted one.XOXO
Dear Prissy,
Thank you for sharing your journey of sadness with the loss of your dear mother, into the new day of determination to honor her life and finish your book! Your recounting of your experience reminded me that my own Mama passed away five minutes after I went to my room. I believe that she waited until I left her bedside, where I had sat all evening reading Scriptures while holding her hand. My daughter, Teresa, suggested that I rest while she sat with her Grandmommy.
I believe that our mothers didn’t want their passing to be our last memories of them. There are numerous reports that support that idea.
May God soothe your soul and give you strength to continue to make your Mama proud. I know she is always proud of you!
Love and hugs,
Marie
Hi Marie.
Hope you are doing well….
I do remember you talking about your mother and losing her. You may have even written a piece about her ( I think)
Thank you so much for your dear words. You are so sweet…always.
Love and hugs to you, too. XOXOXO
Prissy,
Life has a way of always throwing us curves, hanging crevices or whatever, but it also has a way of bringing us full circle as you have so beautifully said in your blog. Never, never stop writing, you have a gift, and it needs to be shared. Just like the stuff, no one wants, your writing is just he opposite,it is something everyone wants. It can make you laugh, cry, relate, and learn from what you have shared.
Awww..thank you so much, Lynne. You made my day, actually it’s night. I really am crazy. I so appreciate your reaching out.
Hugs!
Love your stories. I remember fondly your visits to St. Augustine. Power of the Purse and Camilla Garden Club. So sorry for your loss. Ye, we all hate to lose our Moms, and I still miss mine every day and she passed away 25 years ago.
Thanks, Anne- I’m so glad you love them. Now, I have reason to keep telling them.
Yes, what a great time it was in St. Augustine. When second book releases I’ll come back again. Hopefully! 🙂
Beautifully written! I feel every bit of your pain. I lost my Mother 5 years ago, and I’m still struggling with the loss. I can’t even close out her tiny bank account because I love seeing her name on the envelope once a month. Yep! Now I’m dealing with my Mother-in-law passing away this past February; And HER dolls that she adored that she didn’t get when she was a child living at the St. Marks Lighthouse. My kids don’t want any of their Grandmother’s treasures. I look around my own home and realize , sadly , they don’t want anything I have either. So I’ve decided to start purging and giving it away. It’s joyful and healing to give to people who truly need and want it. I just shared a post on FB that said: Grief is just Love with no place to go . I believe this😪❤️
I love that, Sherry. Grief is just LOVE with no place to go. Perfect description.
I’m So sorry for your losses. We just have to’get it’; they don’t ‘want it’. And that’s okay, I guess. I always say, “It is what it is and can’t be what it’s not.”
Actually, I’ve taken many of my mother’s pieces…especially the framed people. I just can’t give my ‘people’ away to strangers…just for the frames. Seems like betrayal. LOL
And yes, I’ll even keep her dolls, along with mine. I’ll get my kids back when I die….they will get ALL OF THEM. Payback is is a …..
Hi Prissy, I actually sent you a message several months back; since I didn’t receive a reply, I never knew if you’d read it or not. Anyway, I wanted to let you know that your cousin, Christopher (Chrissy) & I have been together “as a couple” since June of 2009. I lost my husband very suddenly in Feb 2008. Chrissy came to my rescue when we met in April 2009. He’s such a caretaker type, industrious, funny, practical & much more. He can be quite bossy at times…but, his many other postive attributes makes that fade away fairly quickly …well, most of the time…LOL.
I read your blog today & having lost more than a half dozen family members & close friends myself, I can certainly commisserate with all of your emotions that you’ve expressed with such descriptive feelings of clarity, that are layered with your love, burdens of sadness & even confusion. However, I think because you are so talented at getting all of your feelings out by writing about them in such a prolific style, that not only gives your readers the fuller understanding of what you want to convey, I would think it’s also a wonderful tool for you to organize the memory of that highly emotional time/event and file it all away as another of your keepsakes forever.
Hi there! I’m so sorry I missed your last message. I’m worthless at reading my post comments and social media comments. I need to do better. Right, Prissy. Do better!
Chrissy, love that you call him that. I still think of him as Sheen, even though he goes by Chris, or Christopher. The man with many names.
Thank you for reaching out and your great dissection of my wired brain and my ‘writing down the bones’ style, sort of speak. From your sharings of loss, and your own emotions, I know you understand this whole daunting process. I look forward to meeting you one day, Kathleen. We are so glad you two met!
Let’s name this ” a mature insite to evolving”
Love that name! Thanks:-)
Prissy, I loved this and agree with you. Hopefully when it is my time, This will help them.
Thank you….love you. XO
Prissy, can’t wait for the sequel! So sorry about your Mother. It is sooooh difficult to lose one Mother! It is almost like loosing our ‘life strings’ (my term) for a little while anyway. Did your mother still live in Lake City? (You & I grew up in the same town).
Glad you are back! Cece Thomas Grillo
Awwww. love ‘life strings’ -your word.
Thanks, Cece, I so appreciate your reaching out.
No, my mother moved to Tallahassee when daddy died. She lived a mile away from me and was still driving herself around town:-(
Beautiful Prissy….just beautiful like you!! Much love!
Love you right back! XOXO
You are so very much of my heart. Thank you for sharing your journey.
I’ve lost a husband to such a “jack ass of a disease”. Sickfor three years. So crummy.
My Mom is 90 years old and kicking ass.
Nothing in my life makes sense. I am a survivor.
Thank you for being a part of my life.
You rock
Ginny, Love your words!
You are a warrior! I love that our paths have crossed, soul sister. Yes, yes, yes. Cancer is a jack ass of a disease. Stroke is the ugly cousin.
Hugs!
Thank you! Friend, you nailed that one and I thank you for allowing us the privilege of walking this journey with you. We all have our own paths and the stones/boulders, that cause us to stumble, may be different but the falling on your face part is the same. I needed that…every single word of it.
Love you….my wordsmith friend. Get busy, write your book of poetry. Do it! 🙂
Prissy, what a beautiful piece you have written on your blog about your mama passing away. As I grow older, I miss my mom even more. I am looking forward to the new book and the article in Flamingo. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us.
Thank you, Janet!
I so appreciate your kind words.
Sweet Prissy! I loved reading this and grieve for your profound loss. Your horoscope was spot-on…maybe a message from your Mama? Can’t wait to read your next book-and host a fabulous book signing for you! Miss seeing you -sending hugs!
Another horoscope gal…love that, Serena. And I may work harder, and faster, just to have my book signing with YOU.
Hugs…miss seeing you. We need a wine night to whine very soon! Well, I do!
I get losing your Mom! Then I lost my sister fell apart! Familie don’t want what you have. So make sure you take care of your self!
Oh no…you poor thing. A mother and sister. I’m so, so sorry. You surely know. Thank-you, I’ll take care of myself:-)
So saddened to hear sbout the passing of your mother. Sylvia was a very beautiful lady and loved you girls so.
This is such an eloquent and endearing tribute to her. I have your book “Far Outside The Ordinary” and look forward to your future writings. I’m sure to me mother would be proud of you.
Thank you so much! I so appreciate your sweet words and praise. We loved her so…
Prissy, Sorry to hear of the loss of your mother. That is something we all see coming but are never prepared for. Her legacy lives on in you. She must have been so proud of you.
Enjoyed your visit to St. Augustine and the Power of the Purse event as well as your visit to our Camellia Garden Club .
Delores Lastinger
Delores,
Thank you so much for reaching out… you are so right. Yes, indeed, we should be more prepared.
Loved visiting with you in St. Augustine and meeting so many beautiful, kind women. XO
Tears, joy, and hope…. thank you!! Great blog… took me back to the exact same place, literally… with my mom (who for one moment came out of her coma to say– wait.. I forgot to teach you how to plant daylilies) .. toes -check, nails-check, hair- check, white soft wedding like slippers – check…
even at her viewing.. jennifer changed her lipstick.. crazy the things that make us feel better..
and that one second when we turned away, just at the doorway at Hospice– she was gone..
tears my friend.. looking forward to the Sequel!! ❤️❤️🙏🙏
Awww. D-Ann…you certainly know the journey well. And your description sounded exactly the same. Thanks for sharing with me and for reaching out! XO
Beautiful and I understand about the “stuff” but the dolls are beautiful. I hope someone will take them and turn a little girl’s dream into a reality. Your gift for words amazes me. I too, wait for you to complete this second book, if compared to your first I know I won’t be able to put it down. I do believe your mom visited you, about a week after mine passed she was walking in my house, it was night and I heard her shuffle down the hallway to her bedroom. The brightest light was shining as she was walking and stopped at my bedroom door, I was not afraid and happy to know she was ok and with my dad. Enjoy life and live it to the fullest. Love you sweet friend.
Thank you Kedra! You are so sweet and you know I”m not crazy. Well, maybe just a titch.
Hugs and love! XO
Loved….loved….loved your blog. The entire piece was so spot on………when I lost my mother in 2001 (right before 9/11) to a massive stroke, I felt the same emotions. Losing a mother was such a terrible loss. Your words were so perfect…….your mother is smiling down on you today and always.
Thank you for reaching out to tell me that, Karen. It means the world. XO
of course your message today brought tears to my eyes as I am sure it did to every one. Thank you for sharing your heart and soul because it brings blessings to each of us that read your writings..
Sincerely, Angela
Thank you for your sweet words. YOU made me cry:-)
Super Duper. I totally appreciate your thoughts on your mother. Mothers are very special people. Some say a mother’s love patterns most closely to God’s love. I do not know but, for me my mother surely did. Sounds like you too. Glad you are writing again. We all look forward to more wonderful stories from you.
Fondly,
Patricia Sharkey Garner
Love that…
‘a mother’s love patterns most cloesely to God’s love. I think so. Yes, it’s perfect. Thank you for that profound message, Patricia XO
Lovely piece. So glad you are coming out of the fog. I can assure you a year from now you will think of something , pick up a phone to call your mom…and remember. For a moment you will be taken aback, but the bottom line is it will stir a memory of a happy time you shared, and you will smile.
Thanks, Jacque. I know you are right. It’s still so hard. Hope you are mending back to good health. Thank you for your outreach. XO
Thanks for the update Prissy. So sorry for your loss but thanks for the humor you installed in your post. You are right, nobody wants your “stuff” after you are gone, urged me to go start cleaning out the “stuff” and throwing it out.
Thanks, Joan. Humor really is a great crutch-until you trip.
Wishing you success with that clutter cleaning project. 🙂
Prissy, your talent for describing life in the South brought me comfort, as always. I was with my mom as she passed in January 2017, and my siblings and I went through the whole “what to do about all that stuff”. It is gruesome. In the end. each of us took some family antiques and I have to say I enjoy looking at mine, happily nestled into my 1950’s contemporary home. Family portraits line the hall. My advice to you is, keep those dolls for your daughters or grands or great-grands. Someone along the line will appreciate them and they are irreplaceable. Pack ’em out of sight meanwhile if it pleases you. Blessings to you and your sisters as your journey of grief unwinds, may its path be gentle.
Susan, I’m taking your suggestions to heart. And I’m so sorry about your mom. Yep, one of the hardest things- you know so well.
Thank you so much for your heartfelt message…it means the world to me.
Hugs!
Thank you Prissy
XO…hugs to you, Ellen!
Prissy,
I am in Montana for the summer and so enjoyed reading this. This story is so similar to the story of when my mother passed away. My sister and I slept on the floor and snuggled up in her bed with her also. I have the most special memories of doing this and you will also. My mother also waited until I went out to dinner to pass away. My son Kevin was the last to be with her. Hospice nurses had told me that she would not leave this earth with me in her room. Keep writing as you have a special gift. Fondly, Ann Wilson
Ann, thank you for sweet messege. I so appreciate it. XO
Enjoy Montana–it must feel like heaven. Let me tell you… Florida is brutal.
Prissy, I lost my mom after a downward spiral of dementia, and whether the journey is short or long, the pain and feeling of loss is the same. I left to go home to shower and change, and came back as she was almost gone. I understand completely how devastated you were. I have told others who have lost their mom, how disorienting it is. I mean, how can your mom NOT be there any more. No matter what has happened, it just doesn’t seem possible. Your blog captures the series of emotions perfectly. And all those other decisions that follow. It’s like a life dissection – so upsetting yet necessary. I enjoy your writing so much. It’s like you are just right there talking casually about – whatever. Like I’m your best bud. You have a wonderful gift, and we all look forward to your next book. I’m so sorry for your loss!!! Hugs, Billie
Oh, Billie. I’m so sorry about your mom, too:-(
Yes, you are so right. A ‘life dissection’ is perfect description. Thank you so much for your sweet comment… It just means the world to me.
Hugs!
Prissy
Prissy you amaze me. You were made to glorify words, and with those words you paint pictures, pictures so vivid that the mind’s eye can see every detail no matter how small. Emotions pour from them. They make hearts swell to the bursting point.
Words are, after all, not just squiggly lines and curves that are accompanied by periods and question marks. They are living things brought to life by feelings of passion, compassion, sadness, anger and joy. Even feelings we cannot explain within ourselves are eventually brought to light by that one word, or short sentence or even an incomplete paragraph. Words can be the beginning, a nudge that forces us to fill bland pages with our own uniquely written chapters.
Words are a gift to those who impart them, but a greater gift to those who receive them. It does not matter whether they are eloquent or plain they can teach and inspire. Even a misspelled word can bring laughter.
God has granted you a great gift and you have been very generous in sharing that gift with others. Your mother now walks streets of gold lined with stately mansions, but I bet she cannot help but to brag, just a little bit mind you, about her daughter with the magic pen.
Ron…You are too, too kind. Thank you so, so much!
And talk about the gift of words and magic pen…ummm, your comments were poetic. You are the one with the gift, my friend.
I loved reading every word and sentence through my pooled tears. And I just bet my mother loves walking those streets. She sure loved GOLD. XOXO
Love your writing Prissy. Keep up the good work. Your mother was a very beautiful lady as were you and your sisters. I can’t wait for your next book.
You are so sweet, Mary Ann. Thank you so much!
So warm and thoughtful. I loved the piece Prissy. I look forward to your new book.
Thanks, Kathy!
Oh dear sweet Prissy, thank you for sharing this story about your Mom. I have never like saying good bye, whether it was the first day of school for my Children, leaving for a trip or the passing of someone dear to me. With every Good Bye, there is a tug on my heart that gets pulled away and my heart spends moments and memories pulling them back.. I visualize a string of yarn that I can knit into something soft. Do you remember in our book club we were reading, “The art of Tiding up”… I could not finish the book. After the 3rd chapter I was in tears and could hardly breath….twice I have tried to pick up that book, but I have now tossed it in the trash…….the past two years I have had to “go through”
“close down” there has to be a better way of describe this action! my Grandmother’s home and my Mom’s home…..some days I could do it quickly and some days I just couldn’t. As my friend describe, I would be like a train that came to a screeching halt, such a bitter sweet……any way this “reply” in your comment box was not going to be about me…..My message to you is please please please never stop writing, your words are a gift from God….and as only you can do so beautifully in your time of grief, you brought me comfort, along with a smile and tears running down my face…
Thank you for speaking from your heart to my heart. xoxo
Sweet, sweet Cricket. Thank you so very much for your humbling words. Shame on me for choosing that stupid book. Isn’t it ironic I picked it a few months before I lost my mother. And such a random book for me to pick of the millions out there.
I haven’t finished ‘tidying up’ mama’s life collections. And, I may never, truth me told. Lordy me. Ugh!
You’ll never know how much I appreciate your kind words. Thank you sweet friend! XO
Prissy,
You are a person who”feels” derply ALL that liFE dishes out to you. You experience life, both gladand sad, in the moment. You process it’s impact on your world and onthe world of others in your sphere.
Then, when you have been able to process the life changes you return to your writing. Because you process so completely your writing has authenticity that resonates with the reader. Keep on keeping on.
Joanne Taylor
Hi Joanne!
Thank you so much for your message –making sense of me. Even I can’t do that sometimes. I really appreciate your words so very much. And I will keep on keeping on…thanks to people like YOU. XO
Hi Prissy! I always enjoy reading your stories. You have such a talent & you are very blessed. Never give up that talent for it is a gift from God. I am truly sorry about your Mother’s passing. She was a very beautiful & sweet lady (much like her 3 daughters). It was very diffucult for me to lose both my Father & Mother but I realize now that God had a better place for them to be…in Heaven. Time does heal but the loss will never go away. I still to this day want to pick up the phone & call both of them or go visit them at the nursing home. You have your poodles & your mutts however to help fill that emptiness & pain.
I hope you will continue to write & I will be looking forward to reading your new book. God bless you my beautiful & sweet friend whom I have admired for many many years.
I love you!
Kathy 🙂
Dear Kathy-
Thank you so much for your endearing comment. It really meant the world to me. Honestly, reading it was like receiving a B12 shot. It gave me the stamina and ‘courage’ to write 1000 words today. Thank YOU so much for that:-)
And, I love you… right on back!
Prissy,
Your words touched so many of us with its ring of truth. I lost my mother when I was 32, and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of her….I’d like to say that you’re lucky you have had her for so many more years than I did, but the truth is that it doesn’t matter what age you are when your mother dies, it will always leave a hole in your heart. But I really believe your writing gift will see you–and all of us — through this…..
Love you, friend….
Awww…thanks, Jan. I know I was so lucky to have herr so many years. Like you, there are many who lost parents when they were very young. (Garrett and Sara Britton, certainly) I tell myself that everyday. I wish myself would listen to me. 🙂
Hugs and kisses. Love you right back!
Prissy, I’m so sorry to hear about your beautiful mom. I remember growing up in Lake City and I would see her every so often and I would think to myself “she is so pretty”. And your Dad, Wow!!! You, Debbie, Gina and the family are in my thoughts and prayers. Also I had to laugh because my kids don’t want any of my “stuff” either. God’s blessings
Thanks, Susan! Yes, I won the mom and dad lottery. They were wonderful inside and out. Blessings to you too. Now, get busy and clean out your stuff. LOL
Ahh. The butterfly has spread its wings, and is flying again!
Prissy, you are such a gifted writer. We are all most grateful to your mama, the Luna bar, and the three cups of coffee for your return to writing. Those of us who have lost our mothers understand and share in, your grief. I miss my sweet mama every day. I’m always up for a good cry, if you are ever looking for company.
Thanks for sharing your story. It brought both tears and laughter.
Can’t wait to read your piece in the Flamingo magazine – another well-deserved accomplishment. Congratulations.
Thank-you, Linda. You are so sweet…I so appreciate your glowing review. XO
This is beautiful my friend. Thank you.
Thanks, Penny!
Girl, you never cease to amaze. Sounds like you’re back. Welcome back. I know the feeling. Love you. My best to Dale.
Thanks, Leler! Long time no see and hugs to you girl. Dale says “hi”. XOXOX
Oh Prissy … it is so hard to lose our mamas. I was at an Elton John concert when my mother passed. I had spent several days with her but went home to take my daughter to this long awaited event. It was said that she waited for me to leave. So much guilt. ❤️
Peggy…they knew us best, right? Both mamas, waiting for baby girls to leave. It’s hard, muddling along as best I can. Time heals…this I know. Hugs!