This summer has had its ups and downs, most of which have been unrelated to writing. Got some rejections, on short stories and on the novel, but got some encouragement too. A lot of other stuff happened that was hard (cat died, grandmother died, wallet and cell phone stolen from my office, windshield cracked). Stuff that mattered and stuff that just took my time.
Going through this, my boyfriend and I found a place and are moving in together. That means going through four years of stuff (from my time in this place) and all the other stuff that I brought from Ohio or got from my fam in Cali when I moved to NC. This meant I found bunches of old photos of my parents and family, or me, or my friends (elementary, high school, college, grad school), and that brings up a lot of stuff. The thing that hit me hardest was a card I found--an anniversary card from my mom to my dad. The note in it said that she was sorry the card was late (with a perky "better late than never") and then she noted that she was slipping, fading, and she thanked my dad for hanging in there with her. It was probably one of the last things she ever gave him. I'm not sure how it ended up with it--it probably went into a stack, that went into a box, than ended up with me.
My mom has been on my mind a lot lately. It will be 14 years in November since she died. Mostly it is the good things, and the fact that I wish I could share who I am now with her--I'm sure she'd be thrilled with a lot of what I'm doing, but she'd have her own well vocalized opinions, too, I'm sure. Maybe it is that I'm 35, or maybe it is that I'm getting more serious about my career and personal life. Maybe it is something else altogether. But I miss her.