The Impact of Grief and the Loss of an Incredible Mother

 To write about grief is one thing, but to actually live through it is another. Both of my past two books have been inspired by grief. Another Dance was inspired by the fear of grief when the threat was lurking too closely to my family for comfort. Then other stories helped me solidify the details and immerse myself in the possibility while writing Annie's perspective. Road Maps was inspired by the sudden death of my father after not speaking for ten years. I grieved, but I didn't feel like I was exactly allowed to. Since he had already been absent from my life, the absence brought on by death wasn't an abrupt change. But I still grieved the possibility of reconciliation, and I experienced anger and regret and what was left unsaid and what could never be. 

Real, all-consuming grief has finally cornered my reality with the sudden death of my mother. She was my biggest fan, my loudest cheerleader, and my dearest friend. I would often talk to her every day, or at least text. She would alert me of food recalls, imminent weather, and family updates. She was my lifeline to so many aspects of my world, and now I am floundering without her. 

Her death came as a surprise, but also not. It was a twenty-day ordeal that began with a doctor's appointment, her being put on oxygen, getting a bed at the hospital, receiving a diagnosis of small-cell lung cancer, accepting that it was too late for treatment, and finally spending her last week in a hospice facility. For twenty days, I saw her whether she was at my house in the beginning or I was visiting her every day at the hospital or hospice. I saw her decline daily, we said our goodbyes and "I love you" every visit, and she passed away with nothing left unsaid. I knew she loved me; she knew how much I loved her. I was prepared for her passing, but I was not prepared for the sheer amount of emptiness I would feel once she was truly gone. 

I was lucky to have such an amazing mother, to know what it was like to be someone's whole world. Did she probably dote on us too much? Sure. Was she a helicopter grandma? Definitely. But did she love us with a type of unconditional love that is rarely experienced in life? Every. Day. 

It's weird to go on about life knowing that I won't get to talk to her about it. Every morning, I wake up and instantly wonder when I'm going to call her that day. The realization that she's not there to answer is a daily dose of heartbreak and nausea. But I can talk to her. And I can talk about her. And that's what I'm doing. My mom was an amazing woman, and I plan on honoring her every day through my words, my writing, and my love. 

I know I will write about grief again and every time I do so, I know it will be touched by more loss, more pain, and more growth. Grief is a universal experience that can tear people apart as well as bring them together. The outreach of love and support at my mom's passing has warmed my heart so much that even though I've lost one of the most important people in my life, I know I am not alone. As humans, we are not alone. We will continue to share stories, console one another, and connect over experience. Unfortunately, my fictional musings are now all-too-real, but I'll continue to write, to enjoy life, and to be strong. Because that's what my mom would have wanted. I love you always, Mom. Thank you for being everything I could have ever wanted in a mother. Everything I do has and will always be for you.

The Last Full Month of Summer

 Whew! It's been a while since I posted, but July has been busy! 

We started the month off with a literal bang as we celebrated the Fourth of July. Our holiday tradition includes a tried-and-true schedule: 

• Sweating and sunburning as we camp on the side of the road to watch our local parade and watch our children collect candy they don't need
• Retreating inside to relax in the air conditioning and watch The Sandlot
• slowly making our way into the still-humid evening by hanging out with neighbors and letting the kids run around while we enjoy food, drink, and conversation
• Setting off fireworks in our driveway while our children range from Nervous Nellies to Pyromanics
• Watching the city fireworks from another neighborhood yard as we are assaulted on all sides by competitive firework shows from households that invest way too much in explosives

It's all very idyllic and we're lucky to have such an amazing group of friends and neighbors with whom to celebrate. 

Two days later, we embarked on our family vacation. A ten-hour car trip led to our first night in Nashville in which we walked Broadway (busy even on a Sunday), explained the plight of homelessness to our children after seeing so many unhoused people on the streets, and woke up every hour to the sounds of sirens. I'm glad we experienced Nashville but might want to try it sans-children next time. 

Family picture in Nashville 

Then we drove another four hours (five actually after an hour of standstill traffic on the interstate due to a RV that caught on fire) and we finally reached our resort in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. The Smoky Mountains are beautiful and our favorite part of the entire vacation was swimming in the salt water pool with a picturesque mountain view. Three days of touristy excursions and my husband and I realized that all we need to do next year is find a closer vacation spot with a pool and the kids will be happy. 

Anakeesta Park in Gatlinburg, TN

I mixed in a bit of work during our week of play when I donated a copy of my book to the Anna Porter Public Library in Gatlinburg. I was nervous they wouldn't want it, but my husband reassured me that libraries would love a free book, and, spoiler alert, he was correct. The ladies there were lovely and I hope to find a few Tennessee readers that might enjoy Another Dance. 

With the librarians in Gatlinburg's Anna Porter Public Library

We then proceeded on another ten-hour travel day, and spent the night in Hannibal, Missouri (which has changed/declined in the twenty years since I was last there) in a hotel that smelled of marijuana and curry. We woke up to find that ants had invaded our snacks, including our son's prized cotton candy. He was devastated; my husband and I were secretly happy to get rid of the sugary confection. Sadly, we did not take the time to go visit the Mark Twain cave since our daughter was on her seventh day of complaining about stomach pains (which ended up being travel-induced constipation). Oh the joys of traveling. 

Once home, we had a week off in which my daughter went to Vacation Bible School with her best friend and I tried not to lose my mind when picking them up in the busiest church parking lot imaginable. It was like leaving a concert venue every day, which is appropriate because they ended each day with a full-on rave in the sanctuary. It was a bit overstimulating, however, the church-approved version of LMFAO's song "Shots" changed to say "March" did make my Monday. 

Since that week of respite, it's been work, work, work. Along with six other authors from Bookpress Publishing, I sold books at the Waukee Arts Festival. I learned a lot watching the other two fiction authors  calling out to passers-by like carnival barkers. It might not be my preferred style to holler out to potential customers, but those guys sure did sell a lot of books---more than me. So when I traveled up north to work the Plymouth County Fair, I applied my lessons and asked occasional patrons if they were readers or enjoyed romance books. More often than not, it would engage them in conversation and end up in a sale. I learned a very important lesson: as a no-name author, I have to engage if I want to sell. And I need to be confident. If I believe in my story, then I should believe others will enjoy my story and should buy it. (That's become part of my daily affirmation). It was a fun, but very hot, week of manning a booth with my wonderful mother-in-law. I sold my books and she sold her beautiful door hangers and leaners. It ended up being the most successful event for both of us, and we look forward to returning next year. My kids also had the best sleepovers ever with their cousins, and they were able to soak in loads of family time. I didn't mind the morning swims at my parents' place, either. 

At the Waukee Arts Festival with other Bookpress authors

At the Plymouth Country Fair with my mother-in-law Lori and her Eye Candy Wreaths

The fair was bookended between a Ladies' Night Out program in Hospers (small but fun) and a Meet the Author Event in Newton at Alta House. I felt like a real star getting interviewed "on stage" in my red jumper and shiny boots. My favorite part was pulling tickets for the prizes...but selling quite a few copies of Another Dance wasn't too shabby either.

Even though I'm back home, the fun hasn't stopped. I've reviewed and submitted the first proof of my next novel Road Maps, have received positive written reviews from The US Review of Books and professional actress Nana Visitor, and was declared cavity-free at my dentist appointment today. 

I've also read six books this month and can hold my head high as a productive reader. (The high expectations are completely self-imposed). 

August is almost here and I'll soon be going back to work. But even though the month went by so fast, I can look back fondly on the good and sometimes not-so-good-but-humorous-in-hindsight memories and know that it was a month well spent with my children, my family, new and old friends, good books, and new readers. 

Father Figures and Daddy Issues

Much of my writing centers around women with absentee fathers, so it should come as no surprise that I had an absentee father. Here's the thing: I didn't realize he was an absentee father until I became a parent. As a child, I thought it was perfectly normal to only see my dad for two months during the summer. Sure, he'd come to town for Christmas in the beginning, but those mid-year sightings became less and less, almost corresponding with the reveal of Santa's falsehood. (Talk about ripping a girl's childhood wonder right out from under her---no Santa and no Christmas visit from Dad. What a harsh crack of reality.)

Despite the limited quality time, there are good memories with my dad: him placing his hand behind his back and opening and closing it in a sign for me to grab it, singing with him while driving across states in the dead of the night, listening to him regale customers and friends with his charismatic storytelling. Flashes of these fond memories are still able to shine light through the years of absence, wondering if he would finally show up for one of my theatre productions, waiting to hear what he thought about the recording of my voice recital, hoping he would call me for a pop-up visit while traveling across the country. He was by no means a bad father; he just wasn't there when I needed him. 

My husband is ALWAYS present, for me and the kids. (Okay, maybe he's not the best at answering text messages, but if I call repeatedly, he picks up.) He plays with our children, has long conversations with them about life, reads and sings to them every night at bedtime. We go on family vacations, family bike rides, family grocery store outings, family walks...we are a family and we do everything together. Sure, it helps that my husband and I are happily married and he lives in the same state, but he also WANTS to hang with our children because he genuinely likes them and enjoys seeing who they are growing into. And he knows how important HIS PRESENCE is in their life, that how he treats them is going to influence how they see themselves for the rest of their lives. Seeing my husband become a father has been one of the biggest joys of my life, as well as one of the biggest lessons. 

I'll continue to work through my daddy issues within my writing (hey, every writer needs some childhood trauma for creative inspiration) but I can also write about parenting from my own perspective of being a parent and seeing my husband be such a good father figure. In Another Dance, though Jason is deceased, readers are able to see his immense love for his family despite his personal struggles.  In Road Maps, Logan and Malcolm have a chance to work through their torrid past. And through all of my writing, I can pay homage to my past, present, and future experiences with parenting. 

With Father's Day being yesterday (as of this post publishing), I realize it can be a tough day for many: those whose fathers have passed away, those who have strained relationships, or even those who just aren't close in proximity. I'm lucky to be able to celebrate men in my life that show me not only what a good father is, but what a good man should be. 

So I'm going to end by including the Facebook post message I published yesterday for Father's Day: 

I could never have written such a loving father character if I didn't have my husband as inspiration. Jeremy, I'm so lucky to have a partner who is present, engaged, and playful and who supports and loves me and our children unconditionally.

Happy Father's Day to the men out there who give their all--their time, energy, patience, and love--to their families. Your presence and impact holds a lifetime of importance.

Even if you have a complicated relationship with father figures in your life, I hope you have some glimmers of joy in your memories and others you can look to for example and admiration. And, if anything, use the inspiration and create stories that you want and need. That's what I'll continue to do.

Summer Reading

 Summertime has always been a distinct reset for me, a hard turn from the rest of the year and a couple months of distance from the status quo. Sure, like all children, I had summer break, but my summer break was more dramatic than most children's. From kindergarten to ninth grade, my dad would pick me up in small-town Agency, Iowa and we'd drive across the midwest to Niagara Falls, New York where I'd spend my summer with my dad and step-mom. Everything was different: the weather, the rules of the house, the way we spent weekends. But most impactful was the isolation. I was usually the only kid. My sister, nine years older, stayed in Iowa once she started drivers ed and had a job (as teenagers do and as I would eventually do) and my teenage step-brother had his own cool teenage life, working on motorcycles and playing in a hair-metal band. My dad still had to work, and my step-mom, an artist who worked late into the night, would often sleep until the afternoon. Sure, we had some fun travels throughout the years--Lake George, North Carolina, King's Island in Cincinnati, and numerous art festivals throughout New York--but most of my summer was spent roaming the house or yard alone. So what did I do? 

I read. I devoured books like I was starving and they were an all-you-can-eat buffet. I started with classics like E.B. White's Charlotte's Web and The Trumpeter Swan, The Boxcar Children, graduated to R.L. Stine's Goosebumps series and later the Fear Street books. I was obsessed with horses for a time and read Joanna Campbell's Thoroughbred series. Sometimes my step-mom would take me to a used bookstore and I would load up on teen novels about unplanned pregnancies or even adult fiction like The Horse Whisperer (which I read when I was 11. Let's just say I was an advanced reader...and I loved it and may have found my obsession with romance during these years...) 

So, yes, while I was actually traveling during the summer and away from my mom's home, I was still restrained by my parents' schedules and lack of friends. However, I was freed by reading, able to explore many worlds, lives, and perspectives. 

Most adults lose that summertime divide, their jobs continuing despite the seasonal shift. As a teacher, I never had to experience that harsh change into year-long adulting. Now my summers are a time for physical rest and mental reset. Not only do I get to spend the summers with my children, but I also designate summer as my heavy reading and writing season. Last summer, I woke up every day at 5 AM when my husband was waking up for work, wrote until the kids needed me, and I finished my draft in two months. I also read nearly fifteen books in those ten weeks. 

(Some of the books I read last summer)

I'm no longer limited in my own travels;  taking my kids to visit family and friends across the state and planning at least one week-long vacation every summer; but I still read to travel in my own mind, to expand my perspective and experience, and to feel along with characters and learn what others go through amid unique experiences. 

Summer can hold a lot of expectations: jet-setting, relaxation, and extreme fun for all. But sometimes it's unrealistic to jam all of that into ten weeks (or even less if you're a working adult with a more constrictive schedule). But you can read anywhere and anytime. You are not restricted by location, weather, or lack of funds. Books can be the escape you need. They were for me as a kid spending lonely summers in New York, and they still are when I just need a moment of reprieve from my kids' fighting or whining about being bored. (And we are one day into the summer and I've already heard this multiple times...)

This summer, I plan on filling up with as many books as I can, feeding my soul with stories and new understanding about humans with diverse backgrounds and experiences. Because I'm always hungry for literary fulfillment and summertime is my smorgasbord. Soup's on!

So, what's on your reading menu this summer? 

Put Another Dance on your summertime TBR! 

My Metaphorical Baseball Field

If you build it, they will come.

Kevin Costner followed this advice in Field of Dreams and it worked out for him. So how about for a fresh-faced author, huh? 

If you write it, they will read. 

I wish it were that simple. 

I wrote the book, I published the book, and now people should read the book, right? But first, they have to actually find the book. They. have to see the cover, read the synopsis, and decide whether they want to take a chance. Maybe they chat with me, enjoy my enthusiasm and easy banter, and want to help a gal out. To those of you who have done just that. Thank you. Thank you very much. For those who do not know who I am and haven't seen my book at all: therein lies the challenge. My potential readers aren't ghosts that will magically find the baseball field in the middle of Iowa farmland. No, these are readers in the flooded wild of capitalism, already inundated with products of varying quality. How am I supposed to be found in the giant pile of recreational purchases? 

I'm trying my best, putting myself out there, doing all the things. But, man, this author beat is a tough one. I'm out there working book fairs, craft shows, and festivals. I'm hosting Ladies' Night Out programs at libraries, using my class management skills to help me engage potential readers with party games and discussion. And I'm doing the social media thing, posting, filming, and trying to capture my authentic self all in the hopes that someone will choose me. 

The only way to survive this gig is to not take myself too seriously and laugh when the outcome isn't quite as expected. It's a good thing I've been laughing at myself for forty years now, because there are moments where it could easily slip into mopey woe-is-me self-deprecation. Don't get me wrong, I've had those moments, too. However, I'm finding the more "failures" I have, the easier it is to brush off. It's like playing the field, and this time I'm not referring to the baseball field analogy from before. No, like the dating field (which I thankfully wasn't part of for too long). 

In all honesty, I'm a people-pleaser searching for a sense of accomplishment, asking for that pat on the head, whining like a puppy for a sign of love. But by putting myself out there and experiencing rejection, I'm getting more and more comfortable with that previously-feared brush off. So maybe that's why I became an author. To fix the part of me that seeks fulfillment from the acceptance and praise of others. 

And if so, it's working. I think I'm becoming stronger in my sense of self. 

But I'd still really like to sell books. 

So I'll keep building my metaphorical baseball field and hope some ghost players come wandering in and decide to stay awhile. Otherwise, what do I have? Just an empty, dusty pile of dirt? No thanks. I'd much rather try to run the bases than hang in the dugout. 

Okay, that's enough sports metaphors for me. Catch me on the socials or come see me at an event. I'd love to try and win you over! 

Entering My Forties Era

 Tomorrow is my birthday. My FORTIETH birthday. When I was a teenager, forty seemed so ... old. But now that I am forty, I don't see myself that way. Sure, there are days where my knees click and I definitely can't handle roller coasters or dairy like I used to, but that's not because I'm old. That's because my body is ... experienced with life and burdened with gravity. Okay, age-euphemisms aside, I don't feel forty. I still have energy, humor, and fairly nice skin, and honestly I feel healthier and more comfortable in my body than I ever have. 

It's a cliche to say "age is a state of mind," but it's also true. I choose to have fun and feel young, so I'm going to will my brain and body to do just that, only with the forty years of wisdom and balance that keep me grounded and capable of moving forward despite challenges. I still have more than half of my life to go (if all goes as planned) and I'm grateful that I've earned the chance to apply what I have learned in life as I enter this next decade. 

So what have I learned in the past four decades? Here's a quick summary:

0-10 years old: I learned that kids can be cruel, that life isn't fair, and that sometimes you just need to cry. But I also learned to take joy from simple pleasures, to sing loudly even when you're afraid, and to cherish those that are kind and in your corner. (This was a tough decade.)

10-20 years old: I learned that the problem might be the situation and not necessarily you, that you will find your people if you put yourself out there, and that falling in love can be exciting and messy. I learned that not all friends are forever, and that's okay, because there was a reason to have them at a certain time. And I learned that change is scary but necessary, not matter how many times it happens. (This was a very emotional decade. We're talking LOTS of emotions)

20-30 years old: I learned that sometimes you just need to be by yourself and focus on yourself, and that's okay. I learned that most things arrive when you stop looking for them. And I learned that true love takes compromise, respect, and communication without sacrificing your own identity. I learned that I deserve love. (This decade saw the most pivotal growth.)

30-40 years old: I learned that being a parent is the most rewarding and most difficult job in the world. I learned that the days are long, but the years are short and to not take any moment for granted. I learned that pausing or taking a break from something doesn't mean it's over. And I learned that I can invest in myself and love myself without being selfish. (This was my best decade yet.)

There's so much more, but sometimes we learn a lesson in the moment, forget it, and have to learn it all over again. Therein lies the beauty of life. 

I had an amazing 39th year. I published a book! And there were so many events with friends and family, thousands of pictures taken, interesting places visited, and professional milestones reached. But beyond the concrete list of items that can be ticked off, there's the overall feeling of this past year: acceptance, empowerment, and love. It always comes back to love. 

I love the life, the opportunities, and the people that have helped me grow into the person I am today. And I can't wait to see what else there is to love in my next decade of life. 

Taking Time Together

Many of my writings include female characters that get lost in their roles as partners, mothers, and workers. It probably comes as no surprise that I am often inspired by my real life. As a mom, teacher, wife, and writer, I sometimes lose sense of who I am without all those titles. Or I try to be the best at each of them and end up feeling anxious, guilty, or disappointed in myself. In order to keep some semblance of sanity, the roles sometimes exist in flux, with certain ones rising to the top and others falling to the bottom. 

Unfortunately, one role that tends to often fall to the bottom of the priority list is that as a wife. Not that I’m a bad partner: my husband and I work together to keep the house up, prepare meals, run errands, and spend time with the kids. But we don’t get as much time to just be together, to just enjoy one another’s company. We fall victim to the routine and the deadlines. After fourteen years of marriage and two kids, some might say it's normal, but I know we aren't at our best when we start to lose connection. 

That’s why it is so important as a couple, especially a couple with children, to prioritize time together. It’d been three years since my husband and I spent a kid-free weekend together until this weekend. For my birthday, my husband arranged for us to drop my kids off with my mom for the weekend, drive back home, and spend the weekend together. We went out for karaoke with friends (I do a mean rendition of “Don’t Stop Believing”), went to the musical Hadestown (I still can’t get “Wait For Me” out of my head), and watched whatever we wanted on Netflix (North of North is a fun binge). Sure, we also had to take care of the regular weekend errands such as grocery shopping and laundry, but it was nice to spend it with him, making a date of it rather than dividing up the duties and going our separate ways. To remember this was the person I chose to do life with and to create life with. This weekend was a necessary reminder.

Those other roles in life don't disappear, but it's okay for them to take a backseat once in awhile. And even though I am prone to guilt (as I've discussed in previous posts), it doesn’t make me a bad mother to want some time alone with my husband. It doesn’t make me a bad teacher to avoid all schoolwork for a weekend. And it doesn’t make me a bad writer to abstain from marketing and writing this weekend (okay, I did still post and work on my edit … so maybe that doesn't count). It’s healthy to take the time to reconnect whether it be with yourself, a partner, family, or friends. It’s probably what we need to keep going, keep thriving, and keep loving ourselves and others. If we take the time for ourselves, we can see who we are individually more easily in the various roles we hold, and appreciate all more authentically.

I’m feeling more connected and free this Sunday evening, and even though I am still looking ahead and worrying about what I need to do this upcoming week, I can go into the routine knowing who I am and what I’ve chosen in life. And I can say this: I’ve chosen well.