As I write this nestled in my New England condo, tears fall splashing on my HP Gold Luxe. My trio of blessings want to make Mommy better with kisses and love and I greedily inhale it like a fish out of water gasping for air. The tears are bittersweet as I know this is the last weekend Even Tough Women Can Crack Like Eggs Sometimes will ever be a manuscript. In four days, a piece of me will head to my editor and then go on to retailers to be released as my first book on November 22, which is a month from today. One month. There are no coincidences in my world, so it is sheer divinity this journal entry is written today. I am listening to Imagine by the prolific John Lennon; moments before it was Let It Be by the brilliant Beatles. I am not a “Beatle-head” as I used to tease my ma. My mom was. She was over the moon for Paul. As a teen, she wanted to marry Paul McCartney. I remember being grossed out to the max hearing this. Eeww! I still am. J My mom is no longer with me on earth but she is with me as I type this. It breaks me to pieces knowing she isn’t here to share this moment with me. I know, I know, she is looking down at me, but it is not the same. It isn’t. It isn’t for the unwanted little girl who came miraculously into this earth with the chips stacked against her; nor is it for the woman who is finally letting the scars of her childhood be a badge of courage to sport proudly because she made it through. I made it through. We made it through. Right now, I want my Mommy. I want her to hold me as I cry and grieve the yesteryears that were a chaotic nightmare. I want to apologize for not realizing how tough she was. I want her to know I forgive her because she did the best she could at twenty being surrounded by vultures who let fear rule them instead of love. I want to say, “I’m sorry, Mommy, I didn’t fully realize what you went through until I started writing this book. I am sorry with all my heart. I love you, Mommy. I miss you so much.”
So, as I move into the final hours with my novel all to myself, I am reminded it is another loss I will be experiencing since being temporarily placed in New England. In fact, it will be my third. And for those who know me, know 3 is my number. 3, 13, 33, and 333. A woman I once knew kindly told me it was the trinity. I remember smiling because it summed it all up for me and my life’s voyage.
The third loss was the catalyst for my debut novel and for that I will always be grateful.
When I release my manuscript to my incredible blessing of an editor, Tanya R. Taylor, on Wednesday and she polishes it to near perfection, please know you aren’t just getting a book by Diane Morasco, you are getting a piece of her.
Thank you for sharing this phase of my life with me. I appreciate it more than you can even imagine.
Enjoy your weekend!