I had always promised my mother a novel based on her life. I even wrote a rough draft of the first chapter a few years back and presented it to her for Mother’s Day. Writing that story now keeps her alive for me. Writers are supposed to find their audience and I have found mine.
What was I thinking that I had all the time in the world to write it for her? Yet, just as my childhood is now an illusion, so too is my life with mom. I think Shakespeare said it through Prospero best in Act 4 Scene 1 of The Tempest-
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d tow’rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
I work best on a deadline, so today I announce that on Mother’s Day 2017, I will debut my first story inspired by my mother. Don’t hold me to great expectations, just look forward to spending a little time with someone you haven’t seen in a while. Happy Birthday, Mom. You are forever in my heart.