Tag Archives: Wait for Me

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Saying good-bye…

dyingI’ve been thinking a lot about life and death this week.  A very dear friend of mine is saying good-bye to her mother after a devastating stroke.  The pain in my friend’s face as she is hugging her non-responsive mother for what may be the last time is exquisitely beautiful in a raw and primitive way.  Anyway who reads my books knows that I write about death a lot.  Wait For Me focused on reincarnation, Because of Dylan explored the death of an old friend, Lost and Found in Laurel Ridge zeroed in on the guilt and eventual acceptance of the death of a loved one.  I’ve always found death and the way we deal with it a compelling topic.  I suppose working around it for so many years has made me somewhat pragmatic, understanding that it is inevitable; it’s also incredibly unifying.  We all will die despite our economic standing, how many books we’ve sold, or the credentials behind our names.  Most of my patients who have been facing death are quite accepting towards the end.  Whether it is because they are tired of being in pain or looking forward to the possibility of seeing those who have gone on before them, I’m not sure.  I just know that the majority of my patients have expressed to me that they are ready to see what waits for them beyond this world.  Where the difference comes is in the way those left behind handle the loss.  Each time one of my friends loses a parent (I’m unfortunately at that age now) or even worse, a spouse or child, I’m riveted by their responses.  It’s so unique and beautiful and awful….why are some people made stronger while others never recover?  Why are some people angry while others are accepting?  Why do some people want to talk about it while others are supremely uncomfortable with the topic?  I don’t know the answer to any of my questions.  I have no jewels of wisdom to pass along.  Maybe that’s why I write so much about death.  I doubt that I’ll ever figure it all out but there is comfort in the exploration.

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fitzgerald“Writers aren’t people exactly. Or, if they’re any good, they’re a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person.”–F. Scott Fitzgerald

I remember when I was a teenager, I thought to myself that no one really knew who I was.  In true teenage form, I pretended to be who my friends wanted me to be.  I was the sweet one, the understanding one, the one who never rocked the boat.  It wasn’t who I truly was, it was just what the group needed.  Even now, many years beyond my teens, I’m different people.  At work, I’m the responsible one, the one that never says “I don’t have time.”  To my family, I’m the problem solver, the one who always has a solution in times of trouble.  If you ask my sons, they will say I’m the mean one, the one who over-reacts when we wait too long to get seated at a restaurant.  Sorry, but I thought two hours was an excessive amount of time to wait.  I didn’t yell, I just expressed my displeasure.  There are few people who know who I really am; sometimes I even forget who I really am.  Writing brings you back to yourself, though.  Writing has a beautiful way of emptying your mind of all of the noise and focusing on the new world in which you want to live for the next three months.  Fitzgerald was right.  We are a whole lot of people.  Sometimes I’m brave like Amy (Wait for Me).  Sometimes I make really bad decisions like Grace (Saved by Grace).  Sometimes I want to stick my head in the sand like Ellie (Second Chance).  All of those women in my books are me and I’m those women.  I’m in the middle of a life transition right now.  We’re packing up our house in the Midwest and moving to Florida.  My parents need me and as a friend said, it’s a nice thing that they live in Florida and not North Dakota!  My writing is on hold but in a few months (if the real estate market is kind) I should be back at the keyboard while watching the sun set over the Gulf.  I don’t have the main character figured out yet because I don’t know who I’ll be in the Spring.   I’m looking forward to finding out.

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Semi-comfortable yet?

mike and sandyI love my husband.  I just wanted to put that out there before I go any further.  He’s a timeless jock with a heart of gold and shows his love through his actions.  When I was a young, very poor, woman, in my first apartment and facing a Christmas without any means to celebrate, he surprised me with a Christmas tree and box of lights and ornaments.  I knew that night that I would marry him.  How could any woman pass up somebody that kind?  He’s quite a guy.  He is not, however, the smoothest talker in the world.  He often says things that make my eyebrows jerk together.  Tonight, as I tried my protect myself against the Midwestern winter winds by turning on our fireplace, he asked me one of those very unsmooth questions.  “Are you semi-comfortable yet?”  He was warm and wanted to turn the fireplace off.  Was I semi-comfortable?  Is that the best it’s going to get for me?  Not “comfortable” just “semi-comfortable.”  I could have been irritated at his question, but I just filed it away in the dialogue folder in my brain.  You see, I am surrounded by an odd assortment of people who say odd things often.  If you’re a fan of my books, you know that my male characters are often not sophisticated or smooth and sometimes trip over their own words.  In Lost and Found in Laurel Ridge, when Trey calls Erin “boo” and she says “What have I told you about that?”—–that comes right out of my own life.  In Wait for Me, when Kevin’s dad says “I-talian” with a long “i”—yep, that’s my dad talking.  I don’t have to go searching for inspiration; these people I love are feeding me the words constantly.  Semi-comfortable yet?  I will find a place for that question in one of my future books.  Now, excuse me while I put on a second layer of socks.