Blogging is an opportunity for authors to connect with readers. Despite being writers, blogging is an entirely different style of writing and often stumps us. To help our authors blog consistently, thoughtfully and with purpose, Marketing for Romance Writers is announcing the 2018 Blog Challenge. Each week, authors use our writing prompt to create a meaningful blog post. We'll be posting every Friday... join us as often as possible.
Week 1: "My earliest memory"
I have a lot of memories of my childhood where I really don't know how old I was, so it's difficult to say what my earliest memory could be, but I was 2 years-old when my brother was born and I remember my mom and dad coming home with him as a baby. I have a clear memory of thinking that my parents brought me a baby doll. I was excited to have a new toy. I was at my grandparent's house (I probably stayed there while my mom was in the hospital), and I recall them walking in carrying a bundle wrapped in blankets. My mom sat beside me to show me my new brother. Yes, I thought, definitely a new doll to play with. And, I suppose, I was partially right. I have many, many memories of the games my brother and I played together. I was lucky to have a wonderful and happy childhood.
I also have a few precious memories of my grandfather. He died shortly after my brother was born. I wasn't quite 3 years-old when my grandfather passed away. One time, I remember walking into my grandparents house, having to lift my legs really high to step up the porch stairs to their front door. I was in front of my mom and dad who helped me open the door. And there my Pappap Bud as I called him, was sitting in a chair by the window. He leaned over as he heard the door open. As soon as he saw me, his face lit into a bright smile. I loved that smile! He slid off the chair and greeted me on the floor with a hug.
Years later, I mentioned this memory to my grandmother. She always sat at the chair by the window and it became known as Nana's chair. I told her that I remember Pappap Bud sitting there and wondered why he'd be sitting in her chair. She told me, of course, it was his chair back then. I realized at that moment, that memory wasn't something I had created about my grandfather. It was real. I had only been 2 years-old!
I remember my grandfather's funeral, too. Well, not the funeral exactly, but the viewing. My father was carrying me in a room full of people who were all dressed up. I was wearing a dress, too. I saw my Pappap Bud sleeping in a box. I wanted him to wake up so he could play with me. But, he didn't.
Another memory of my grandfather has confused me for most of my life. I'm not even sure if it was a memory or a dream. I hadn't seen my Pappap Bud in a while and I missed him. I was in my grandparents house when I saw him in the dining room. I chased him, wanting to play with him. He went upstairs, so I followed. He wanted me to follow him, because he kept looking back at me and waving for me to keep going. When I reached the top of the stairs, he had disappeared. I walked down the hallway to find him in my grandmother's bedroom. He was sitting on the floor with a brown puppy dog stuffed animal toy. He handed it to me. Then he went on to say that he loved me very much and wanted me to be a good girl. I promised him that I would.
That was the last time I remember seeing him. The thing about this memory that has trouble me is that I have the distinct impression that this memory occurred
after he died. I remember being so happy to see him because I hadn't seen him for a while and I missed him so much. I told my grandmother about it years later, probably when I asked her about the chair. When I mentioned the brown puppy dog toy, she told me that my Pappap Bud had given me that stuffed animal. At that point, I was older and had no idea the stuffed animal was from him. It was one of my favorites, though, and I kept it on my bed all the time. For some reason, I got chills when she told me this. Was this a memory or a dream? Or had he come back to say good-bye?
My family has some interesting stories about my grandparents house. Strange noises. Things moving when no one was there. I had my own share of experiences there. My grandmother said the house was haunted, but everyone who had died there was from our family, so there was no reason to be frightened of anything otherworldly. And, I was comforted by that. I lived in that house on and off when I was young while my parents tried to find a house of their own and then again when I was a young adult. I've never felt more safe or loved than when I was in that house. And I think its because the ghosts of my family were always watching over me. I hope they still are.
Since I'm posting today (Jan. 11), I'd like to mention that today is my mother's birthday. If she had lived, she would've been 60 years-old. I try to imagine her as an older woman, but its a difficult thing. She's forever 31 in my mind. She passed away when I was 11. She graduated from college (Summa cum laude) and achieved her dream of becoming a teacher. A year later, she was diagnosed with leukemia. Four months after that she was gone. Words cannot express how much I miss her. I cherish every single memory I have of her and I wish I had more. Sadly, I best remember the many days she was in the hospital before she died. I remember the very last time I spoke to her. The very last time I saw her alive. These memories are difficult, but I cherish each one because I'll never have new memories of her.
Mom, I love you!
