I have lived my life with assumptions. Not about science or politics, but just general assumptions that I gained by growing up with my parents. I assumed that if I worked hard and lived right, by now I would be financially secure – nope. I assumed that I would have relatively painless childbirth because my mother had painless childbirth – wrong again. And I had assumed that my parents – being such young parents – would be around for longer.
As a small child, I had assumed I would be rich and famous by now. That one I managed to understand was unrealistic quite early on. I’m still hopeful, but also not stressed by the prospect of smaller expectations. People are reading my stories and that is a great satisfaction to me. Since I’m always working towards improving my writing, there is still the chance I might make it bigtime.
I guess we all think we are the exception to the rules of life. I though I was a golden child, one of the chosen ones, because I could write. I thought my parents were special, and would live forever. I didn’t think bad things could happen to us. Not us!
How could my brilliant and charismatic mother die so young?
In some ways, I have been very lucky. I have the world’s best husband, gorgeous and clever children, and the loveliest family and friends. I knew my mother for decades. I can write, and I have a room of my own, and my hubby supports my endeavours. I can still pretend I am shiny.
I am going to stop making assumptions and be grateful for the good things in my life.
Death and the Lady for Flash Fiction Magazine
My Granddad died in 1996, and I wrote a little story around my feelings. It was only a short piece. Years later, I stumbled across it again. It had held up quite well. I polished it up and sent it out into the big world. I was delighted when it found a home.
Two weeks ago, my mother died. It was a horrible to watch her struggling to live, surrounded by machines that heartlessly showed us how fast she was fading away.
Before she went into her coma, she spoke with my niece. Her last words were “I’m very tired,” and “My children and family were what made my life perfect,” and her very last words were “I love you to the moon and back”.
Her last words to me were “I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I had rung her in her hospital room, planning to visit her that day, and asking her what she wanted. She asked me not to come because she was so tired … I didn’t know that was going to be my last chance ever to speak with her. Who knows these things? She had her fatal turn just a few hours after I spoke with her.
Today rolls around. I had forgotten all about my little story. It was published today. In it, the little old woman dies of exhaustion and malnutrition.
This is how a writer breaks her own heart.
That’s my Mother in the suit, beside the bride (my eldest child). This photo was taken in October last year. This is one of last photos of my mother with her husband, children and grandchildren, together one last time.
At 1am, Brisbane Time, our anthology was number one on Amazon.
Looking for something with one of my stories! Here you go!
Damnation, I want to be writing for profit! I want to make my publishers a ton of money so that they can go ‘whoot’ and roll in cash. I want to keep my family in the lifestyle they deserve. One hundred years from now, I want scholars to be picking apart my work looking for clues of my inner life. My cat deserves caviar and emerald collars! I want new books! And unlimited bookcases!