The Aftermath

We had my mother's funeral last weekend. There was a beautiful private service for just family at the cemetery, and a public memorial at the church.

The church no longer occupies the large imposing building on Main Street where I grew up from earliest memory, attending Sunday school every week, singing in the children's choir and watching the wheel of community turn until one day it found itself dying. The dynamics of the community changed during the late 80's and early 90's, and the costs in keeping the big church running were no longer met by weekly tithes.

My mother was an elder during the change over, on her way out of service and grieving for the loss of the building that had seen births and weddings, and my father's funeral. It is never easy to move a house of worship. I know ghosts walk the halls of the old church; I've heard them before. I wonder do they bother the new congregation walking those corridors; do they understand why things have changed?

Upon arriving at the new location, I was immediately struck with the similarity in building layout to the old church. Once inside I was surrounded by familiar faces and comforting reminders of the years and history of the congregation itself. Included was the wall of pictures showing the different faces of building they had occupied in their 126+ year existence.

The minister had us, the family, crowd together around the large session table to tell stories of my mother. As I looked around, the positive and healing energy of family wrapped itself around me and I felt, for the first time since Mother's death, at peace. I know my mother is at peace in heaven and totally happy to be reunited with my dad and her other relatives. There is no reason to weep, for at last she is free.

Watching the faces of those around me, family, friends, relatives, casual acquaintances, I saw a microcosm of the people whose lives my mother touched as a librarian. People seemed shorted, wider, older than I remembered, another slap of the wheel of time across my face. But the love and warmth they radiated took me in their arms and assured me I am not alone in this time of grief.

A building is not a church. A church is a collection of like minded people sharing and growing in God's love and word. No where was that more exquisitely made clear than at my home church this past weekend.

Some where up in heaven, Mother is smiling.

Where Have I Been and When Can I Go Back?

It's been a while since I wrote on this blog. I always meant to but somehow never seemed to find the time. I've had a busy couple of years between work and home, along with trying to get my writing career up  and going. It gets very disheartening when some people publish three or four books a year and my minimum from idea to submission for one book runs about two years.

Part of my dark thoughts have been due to turning 50 a few years ago, but also the diminishing mental capacities of my mother. It was hard to call and wish her happy birthday back in October (she was 94) when she no longer remembered who I was. She has had a full life and as her end was growing near I have found myself reflective.

My mother was a unique woman. She worked at a time when most women were expected to be housewives; hell, she had a Masters degree when women rarely went to college much less graduate school. Her position as high school librarian fueled my love of books and stories from an early age. Some of my favorite memories are filled with the smell of books and the quiet of reading.

She met my father during the war, World War II that is. Three months is all it took, if I remember the story correctly, before my mother walked in the July heat from the front gate of the army base in Lubbock Texas to the chapel to be Mrs. Walter V. They had a lot in common, my parents. Both were eldest children, both had strained relationships with their mothers, and they understood the meaning of a wounded soul.

My father and I worked the same shift while I was in high school, both returning home in the wee hours of the morning. We talked of many things, including my parents and their stories. I treasure that time with him. But my mother and I had that day to day ignoring each other teenager/parent relationship and many years I spent curled against the car window silently counting the moments we were trapped in the vehicle together.

Daddy died in the early 90's. It was too soon. But out of that sadness and grief came a renewed relationship with my mother. When my daughter was born, she drove up every week from below the Atlanta airport to our house northwest of the city to take care of her so I could work. My children spent days at her house, filling up on Mr. P's pizzas and watching television. I rediscovered my mother, and we spoke often, sometimes about nothing at all.

When she turned 90, it was obvious things were beginning to age. We all dread her driving anywhere that involved the highways around Atlanta. If you've ever driven here, you can probably attest to the insanity which afflicts us whenever we put our vehicles in drive and head out. In response to a falling incident which resulted in her being out of communication for several hours at a time when she should have been home, Momma moved into my brother's home about 4 years ago.

None of us remember exactly when her mind began to stumble, it started with repeated stories and forgotten names. Then came the hours where she would stare at my father's pictures, not speaking a word not moving from her room for hours on end. Her legs began to give out on her and falling became a grave concern, especially after she gave herself a black eye.

She missed my father, she missed her friends and her community. Most of all, she missed being useful. That was the part she found hardest to bear. Her big heart never stopped wanting to help wherever she could. A bright mind with a failing body is frustration as both my parents discovered. All Mother wanted was to be useful and independent again. Now she is.

My mother had a serious stroke the middle of February, with a significant brain bleed in the right parietal lobe. After my father's lengthy illness, my mother had a strict Living Will -- no resuscitation, no feeding tubes, nothing to extend life. She lingered about five days before gently passing from this life to another.

Even though I had mentally been preparing myself for mother's death, it has still hit me hard. A large hole has opened in my chest and nothing feels real. Rationally I know she is in a much better place and that one day we will be together again. But the little girl deep inside me still wants her Momma and I don't know that will ever change.

Love your parents, especially if you have been estranged from them for reasons so silly as to not make a difference. One day, perhaps far in the distant future if you are as lucky as we were, they won't be here, and you will never be able to count the times you pick up the phone to tell them something and remember no one will answer. The words you never say will back up and hang in your throat until you think you will suffocate.

My goal for this year is to recommit myself to my everyday job, my writing, and myself. I will attempt to post something every other week this year. Momma would have wanted me to.

NOW AVAILABLE IN PRINT...

http://www.amazon.com/Catalyst-Guardian-Rising-Nancy-Reece/dp/1628820845/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1425241132&sr=8-3&keywords=nancy+s+reecer

Thanksgiving 2014

Happy Thanksgiving!


I sat here this morning and all the things I am grateful for began running through my brain. Suddenly I just had to sit down and write. The urge doesn't come often the days. I've been on a kick of reading instead of writing. For four years I did nothing but write and I've been catching up on all the books I'd missed.

But today is about thanks.

First and foremost I am thankful for my relationship with God and for his son Jesus Christ. I owe them everything. I thank God for my mind and the many different levels it work on; for my family and their love and support; and for saving me when I had nothing left but my eyes on Heaven.

I am thankful for growing up in a time when life was a little slower and people were a little nicer. I miss that.

I am thankful (believe if or not) for my high school and our active alumni association. Our school is gone now, closed and possibly scheduled for demolition, but the spirit that brought us state championships on and off the football field still lives through all of us  Go Lancers!

I am thankful for my friends, near and far; casual and close. Every connection brings new feelings and chances to learn and grow. I hope I am a positive influence on each person that I touch.

I am thankful for my animals, large and small. Three horses, three dogs, two cats, and one hinny. They make my life full, I only want to be the person they deserve.

I am thankful for my country warts and all. No other democracy has lasted this long and I view our problems as new growing pains. We will pull through this if people remember that the government serves at the will of the people. Learn to use your vote wisely. Put principles ahead of personality.

For most of my adult life we have spent Thanksgiving together with my family, but this year is different. We are apart and I feel the miles and differences stronger than in many years. I cry but they are happy tears, if that makes any sense.

I give thanks for all the stories running around in my head. I'm about ready to sit down and sort things out so until then please keep the cacophony in my mind to a minimum.

I give thanks for my husband. He's never failed to make me laugh when I needed one the most.

I give thanks for those who've read my books, They give me hope when I'm hopelessly blocked.

And on a day like today, I give thanks for pants with elastic waistbands. Turkey and dressing and cranberry sauce. What can I say?

Also, for a million and one things that I can't even remember. I always try to give thanks and praise when something as insignificant as a great parking space comes around.

As we enter into the holiday season, may everyone find the joy and peace this time of year seems to usher in. Remember to be open to new experiences and situations. Seek the companionship of those you love and revere. But mainly, give thanks for each new day, for each day is a new opportunity for growth and reflection.

I wish a warm and happy Thanksgiving to everyone around the world.

James Garner, Robin Williams, Lauren Bacall - Wow

Yesterday came the heartbreaking news that Robin Williams committed suicide. Now I just heard Lauren Bacall died this morning. I'm still trying to cope with the loss of James Garner. Slowly but steadily the idols of my life are passing away.

When someone like Robin Williams commits suicide, we are quick to look at their lifestyle to see if drugs or alcohol played a part. The simple truth is, they are human just like we are. Everyone of us gets depressed. For some people it is a life altering disease. It's all well and good for people to say, "Pick up your big girl panties and get on with it."; for some people that will never happen.

Severe depression begins with a chemical imbalance in the brain. It can be as slight as an occasional feeling of emptiness, or as critical as the inability to get out of bed or perform the simplest of tasks. It is influenced by our moods, our work, other people, no one and everyone. The worst feeling in the world is seeing someone you love wallowing in dark depression and there is nothing you can do for them.

It's time we removed the stigma of mental illness and let those who suffer know they aren't alone. For every person who cries out for help, there are dozens suffering in silence. Proper attention to the disease can help - therapy, medications, group sessions, nutritional counseling, these are but a few of the resources available for people in need.

If you are feeling overwhelmed, lost, unable to put one foot in front of another, or wondering if life would be better without you - reach out. Your life is precious, and there are people everywhere who want to help. Don't be afraid people will think less of you. They will praise you for making a stance for your life. It's the first step toward healing.

If you don't know where to start, dial 411 and ask for the Suicide Prevention Hotline. They are available 24 hours a day. Save your life - make a phone call.

All my life I wanted to be a writer. Not just a scribbler, or a newspaper reporter but a real novelist along the lines of a Heinlein or Dorothy Parker. But when your own insecurities are the demons that laugh at you in the cold hours of night, sometimes it is best to let the dreams sit for a while; and so I did. I went to college, got a job, got married, had children - all the things society claims will make us happy and fulfilled. But they were wrong.

Sure, you might think everything is alright but deep inside there is a piece of you screaming for recognition. Then one day you decide to give in to the whisper and see what happens. That's what I did when my oldest went to college. With a sudden empty spot in my head, freed up from the constant worry that accompanies a son who seemed at time determined to do the exact opposite of what he was told regardless of the side effects, I decided the time had come to put the stories to paper.

When I completed the first draft of my debut novel, "Catalyst - Guardian Rising", I did what any new author might do - starting looking into getting published. I had two reasons in mind: first of all to become rich and famous (lol) and second, more important to me, to have someone tell me I knew what I was doing. To hear that accolade would mean the world to the deeply insecure person that is me. The first editor I sent a sample for a paid analysis told me yes, I do have a knack for the craft. I will forever be in his debt for all the assistance and suggestions he has given over the past three years.

I stand in awe of published writers. Having completed two full length novels in less than three years while working a full time job, raising a family, and working with rescued horses - has left me a little exhausted. Slowly I feel my creative thoughts starting to fire again, but I don't intend to push it. The story is there, I just have to coax the characters to share it with me.

My newest release, "January Frost", is currently available on Amazon.com. It is completely different from "Catalyst", so be sure to check it out. It's a romance combining two of my favorite things: horses and love.

That's all for this month. See you on the first Wednesday of July for another IWSG meeting. TTFN.

Some Background on "January Frost"

My new release, "January Frost", combines two of my favorite things: horses and writing. If life were made by wishes, then I would writing this on the porch of my farm house overlooking pastures of fat, happy horses. But this is the real world, so I'm lying on the couch as "The Price is Right" blares on the television in the other room.

Evelyn Graham-Frost, our heroine, has been living out her dreams as well. A professional horse trainer and rider on the fictional Global Cup horse show circuit, she lives out of a suitcase and horse trailer for months on end, traveling the world for money, recognition, and the love between her and the giant white stallion who is her partner. World Champion Grey Cliff's Snowman is the first horse "Evie" raised from birth and their bond is stronger than iron.

Every heroine needs a hero and ours is Sir David Tattinger, III - called "Trey" by his family and friends. Heir to the title and owner of Grey Cliff, he and Evie were raised together; it was inevitable they would fall in love. But the daughter of a farm manager is not the future Trey's father saw for his only son. The wedge old man Tattinger drives between the lovers is deep and for ten years neither Trey nor Evie has tried to bridge the gap.

Because not only do Evie and Trey share a past, they also share a daughter; a daughter that Trey knows nothing about. After a brutal encounter with Trey's father, Evie takes her stallion and runs. By the time she discovers her pregnancy, another man is in the picture and she allows him to allude to the world she is his child. For ten years she has kept on running in order to keep the secret strong.

When a fall from Snowman ends Evie's professional career, the offer comes in to return to Grey Cliff as trainer. A chance to heal at the only place she called home seems perfect, but also means giving Trey the chance to meet his daughter.

Can Evie put aside the anger and hurt of the past? Or will returning to Trey just bring up old memories best put aside? It's going to take all she has to work through the pain of the past in order to reach for the future.

NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON.COM

If you're looking for a great read for the Memorial Day weekend, be sure to check it out. And don't forget to leave a review! With Amazon's new policies, reviews are critical for writers.

May ends next week. I'm still in awe about that. But my other big news (other than the release) is my strong son is engaged to a great girl and now I get to add planning a wedding to the other million hats I wear at any given time. So if you see wedding pictures popping up on here, please know that I am only looking for places to strategize! I am not giving up being a writer to be a wedding planner. God forbid!

June will bring another attempt to make the Insecure Writer's Support Group first Wednesday blog hop. This time I've put an alarm on my clock so I can make sure I set the auto post function. But for the most part I am developing another story in a completely different realm, so wish me luck!