A GLIMPSE INSIDE
My first call was to Aunt Anne. She had been Mom’s biggest supporter and fan for most of my life. Of course, she needed to know right away.
It was a relief to hear her agree with my decision. The instant grief in her voice was harder.
“I know it’s painful, honey, but this is the right thing. Can you imagine how horrible it would be to go through all that treatment without knowing why? No… you made the only choice you could.”
We talked through making arrangements for her to come out to Portland from Tucson to see Mom. She’d handle telling Aunt Susie and organizing for them to come out together. I would take on the same job with my sister Suzie and nephew Albert.
That should cover all the people who need to know.
I hung up feeling better knowing Aunt Anne was on board with the path ahead, but it also made the whole thing more real. Once the phone was back in my pocket, I walked into the room trying not to look shattered.
Even with a 10-second memory, Mom could still tell when I was upset.
It was remarkable to see how much better she looked even while still fighting off a major infection. She hadn’t made much sense in a long time. I took my phone back out to capture on video what I imagined might be the last normal conversation I would have with her.
Then she said it.
“Honey, I want you to write some… some…”
Mom waved her hand through the air like the words were flying around her head and she was trying to pluck them out of the atmosphere.
“Well, you know…I would like for you to help me… just a few little… page things…”
Does she mean a book?
“And let people know what you were like, what I was like,”
Tears streamed down my face, but luckily, she was off looking for words somewhere on the other side of the room. I asked…
“What would you want to write most about?”
“…Well… It would be…About…You…” Pause for words to come. “Cause to me, that’s the only thing that’s living in this world.”Chortle, chortle… sigh
“It’s always been about you, honey… It’s always been you…”
Shit... I could see where this was headed. What kind of monster says no to that?
Mom always said she’d write a memoir, but no one would ever believe it. Did she think I might have a better shot at telling her story?
“I mean, you know I love my…f-f-f-friends and…f-f-f-fam…everyone,” still chortling. “You should write about, US…”
“Okay, Mom. I’ll see what I can do.”
Hmm…some page things, huh.
The room went quiet as she dozed off. Now all I had was this new request to process. I’d thought about writing a book too, but life had given me so many twists and turns, I was in the same boat as Mom.
Who would believe it?
For years, I’d thought about turning my best stories into fiction, but they seemed a little too far-fetched even for that genre.
Plus, it wasn’t the truth.
A memoir it is.
The Story Continues...
The book may end.
The story doesn't have to.
Read first. Stay close. Take a piece of the beginning with you.
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