In all my recent novels, I have an author’s note at the end thanking the people who helped make my book possible. I have so many people to thank. My editors who help me make my stories the best they can be. My agent who always is ready with encouragement. My publishing team who works to present my books with eye-catching covers, great book descriptions and then gets me publicity chances with reviews and blog visits. And of course, I can never forget to be thankful to the Lord giving me the desires of my heart and allowing me live my dream of writing stories. I also thank my family who put up with me disappearing into stories. That sort of sums up my end of the book acknowledgements.
But when I was thinking about a post tonight, I scrolled through some of my old posts from more than ten years ago. When I came across a post about how maybe my mom was the one I might need to thank first, I decided to share those thoughts again, refreshed and rewritten.
Here Mom is with me and my dogs when I was first began dabbling in storytelling by scribbling words in a wirebound notebook. I wanted to star in a mystery the way the Hardy Boys stared in the mysteries that I enjoyed reading. Of course, I made my fictional me smarter, cuter, and much less shy than I actually was.
My mom never laughed at my scribbling. She never told me my big dreams of someday writing stories others would read might be hard to realize for a little country girl. Even if she may have wondered if my childish dreams had any chance of coming true, she never spoke the first word of discouragement or gave any hint that I might be chasing after an impossible dream. Instead she wished wings for my pen and my words and made me believe if I wanted to, I could.
Then when I got married too young (barely 17) and had a couple of babies, again too young (19), she was probably thinking I’d do well to get the babies diapered and fed. And she was right, but I also wrote a few words here and there between diaper changes and chasing toddlers. Because she loved me, she never said I was too young even when I was. She just helped me be old enough and loved my babies along with me.
When I spent money we couldn’t spare on a writing course I found in the back of a magazine (I was desperate for a way to learn how to go about being a writer), she never said I was crazy or foolish. My dad wasn’t quite as sure about that, but he eventually came around after I published a book. LOL. But Mom didn’t even look as if she thought it. She just kept loving me and believing I could do whatever I set my mind to. The same as she had always done.
Mom never had the writing bug except for keeping a journal of her daily life for many years, but she lived life to the fullest. She married when she was nineteen and moved out on the farm with my dad. I was her third daughter and the baby. She saw that my sisters and I grew up to be responsible adults. She taught us how to work. But best of all she taught us how to laugh and enjoy life.
The last few years of her life were hard for her and hard for us as dementia stole her memory. Eventually, she often didn’t recognize me as her daughter. She drifted in time. Sometimes she was a teenager needing to go home because her parents were worried about her. Sometimes she was a young mother who needed to take care of her children and cook dinner for her husband. I missed my mother then as she went away from me in her memories to a place I couldn’t follow. A place I had no part in. I miss her still, but now I can remember how she sparkled with life and how she fought to keep that sparkle through those sorrowful last years.
Even now, with her gone on to heaven eight years ago, I still feel the joy of life she gave me and how she gave me wings.
How did your mother help you to find your wings?
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My Mom gave me wings by giving me her unconditional love. No matter the situation I knew that she would always be in my corner. She not only gave me life she saved my life when I was three years old and fell backwards into a pot of boiling water. She snatched me up and rolled me in a paste of cornmeal and water. She told me that it would immediately turn to powder and she kept doing it over and over until finally all the heat was drawn out of my body and my cries subsided. She managed to get me to the doctor through the kindness of a neighbor which was a miracle in itself because we lived in the country about 20 minutes from the hospital and Daddy was working in Cincinnati at that time. Mom was told that I had third degree burns but I have had no ill effects from the ordeal. My Mom relied on those home remedies and this one definitely helped save me. My Mom is my hero.
Author
That sounds awful, Linda. I can only imagine how much your little body hurt. I never heard of that home remedy, but I’m glad that the burns didn’t cause you long term problems.
It is a wonderful blessing to have such a loving mother as you did. She was a beautiful lady. I’ve seen her pictures on Facebook.
Thank you for sharing such special memories of your mom, Ann. I’m so grateful for parents who loved and supported me as well.
Author
Having loving, supportive parents is the best blessing a child can have, Diana. Glad you had that blessing the same as I did.
What a wonderful mother you had! I was the baby in my family of three daughters, and I had the blessing of always knowing that my mother loved me. She, too, was extremely supportive. While I didn’t aspire to be a writer, I always wanted to be a teacher. So, my parents provided a chalkboard for “teaching lessons” and instilled a love of books and learning. Since the subject I wanted to teach was French, they even provided a trip to France after I completed college. I will forever be grateful to my loving mother and father.
Author
Suzanne, we are similar in that I’m the baby of three daughters too. My oldest sister thought I was a pest, but my other sister and I were great buddies growing up. We were only 20 months apart.
What great supportive parents you had! A trip to France. That had to be the best present ever for you.
What beautiful memories, Ann. I also had a Mom who instilled the importance of chasing my dreams where my Dad was more of the mindset that I should be working full time, not going to college. But after I graduated college, he came around too. My Mom is still on earth at 89, soon to be 90, and with dementia that has plagued her for 8 years or so. We miss her dearly but marvel when we get a glimpse of the Mom we remember. All will be perfect again one day. Thanks for making me smile. Loved the picture of a girl with her dogs and Mom. sweet!
Author
I did love my dogs, Amy, and of course, my mom too. You have my prayers for more good moments with your mother. Dementia is such a cruel disease and one so many families have to face at one time or another. It’s as someone once said, the double death. You lose your loved ones twice. Once when their memory robs them of the person they have always been and then again when they do move on up to heaven. Mom was 94 when she passed. I’ll always miss her and she will always be a part of me.
I’m glad you were able to chase your dreams with a mother who loved and supported you as my mother did me.
Your mom sounds like someone everyone would want as their mother and the type of mom that we all should aspire to be like. My biggest hope is that I have instilled in my children that they can do anything that they set their minds to do. Thanks for sharing this! 🙂
Author
I’m sure you have, Hope, and they will always remember that you loved them and wanted the best for them. I know that’s how I feel about my mother and like you, it’s what I hope my children believe I tried to do for them.
My mother and my father both showed me the love of reading and writing. I am forever grateful they shared that passion with me.
Author
I, the same as you, Melissa, feel very fortunate to have come from a family of readers on both my mother’s side and my father’s side. And I love it when I know my children also had the reading bug and still do. My grandchildren too. What a great heritage to share from generation to generation – the magic and wonder of story.