REMEMBERING A DEAR FRIEND

This time last week I was composing an email to a dear author friend.

This is something we had done numerous times since our first meeting in 2012 at the Black Authors Rock Weekend.

It wasn't until a couple of years ago, when she was the moderator for a panel I was on at Busboys and Poets that we became email pals.

I was in awe of her writing, had been since her novel, Where Did We Go Wrong? hit the Essence best seller list. She told of how she got up, stayed in her PJ's and wrote until she got tired. 

Well, as I composed that email I was telling her that I was finally getting my tiny house and finally make the commitment to write every day. I knew she would find something funny to say and then, as always encourage me to 'set aside space, time and just let my creative juices flow".

I always looked for her inspiration messages on Instagram and while I hadn't gotten a response from my early morning email; I knew she would respond to it. 

Then my heart got crushed around 9 pm Monday night.

I saw messages popping up in my stream about how we needed to PRAY for her husband and son. How we needed to hope that everything would be OK. I didn't want to go to her page because I didn't want to know what they were talking about.

But I had to know.

And I learned late Monday night that my writing, email, author friend had died. 

To say that my heart was crushed is an understatement. My heart hurts..literally. I have been crying since learning of the news. I can't stop smiling because I know her smile is forever and I can't stop from wishing that she was still here. That she would answer that last email; that she would send that inspiration message on Instagram.

But Monica is not.

She has gained her wings and we are left with a huge whole in the literary community. 

We are selfish because we want her here but there are reason why her shoulder was tapped. There is a reason why her laptop will never come back on. There is a reason why that space on her bed, that held her while writing will never be occupied. 

It's because she is now writing that next novel in her other home. She is now writing as much as she wants and will never know about deadlines, edits and rejection. 

She is where we all hope to be; she just got there first and now she is writing and holding our seat at the table.

Rest eternally my beautiful friend as I will miss you and will never forget our emails every Monday morning.

WHEN YOU BECOME THE PARENT

This blog will be a little different from any I have done. It's 2am in the morning and my insomnia is worse than ever but my author mind is sharp!

I have been a parent five times over and loved every single minute of it. OK; well except for the potty training, the projectile vomit and the flu running rampant in the house for three years in a row. Except for all of that; I loved every minute of it.

This time it is a little different. I'm a parent, to MY parents. My dad is a strong, and strong willed man but he is now 79 years old. My mom is a vibrant and sassy woman; who just happens to be 87. (Yes, she was a cougar back in her day)

Now they need more. More than I or even they, thought they would. My mom has lost 85% of her eyesight and 70% of her hearing. She has had both hips replaced and suffers with circulatory problems in her feet; which cause they to swell like stuffed sausages.

My dad just recently had to have eye surgery and suffers from severe neck pain; caused by a fracture in four of his vertebrae about three years ago.

So, they depend on me for a lot and at first I didn't' think I could handle it.

Let me explain. I'm an author; I do that very well. I know how to market and I know how to push myself to the limits. I know how to publicly speak and I know how to get things done.

When my father asked me to accompany them to a DAV (+Disabled American Veterans) function this past week in  Atlanta, I didn't hesitate to say yes. After all, spending time with my parents is always great.

What I didn't know was that they would need LOTS of help. My mom needs assistance standing, walking, eating, and other things that I won't go into. My dad, although mobile, has to help my mom but also has a hard time standing, walking, and doing basic things for himself.

Imagine going on vacation and having the room next door where you become the room service person for 24 hours of a day.

Here's the thing: I LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF IT.

I felt like now was the time I could give back. Now was the time I could help the people who have supported me, helped me and guided me through life. Now was the time that I could say, THANK YOU, without hearing; "We were supposed to do that because we were your parents." Now was my time to become a PARENT to my parents.

And you know what, I love it. I found myself opening up the connecting door just to check on them in the middle of the night. I found myself racing around when I thought they needed something. I made sure they ate before I ate. I made sure they were comfortable before I was.

My parents are THE best and I will be their eyes, ears, chauffeur and cook for as long as they will have me.  This is time I will cherish with them.