Writing this on Mother’s Day Eve. I have a wonderful son who knows deeply the courage it has taken me to go on. Today the decorator came out and arranged the new chairs and lamps I have gotten. She also rearranged my bookcases for me and put her lovely touch on my fireplaces. My son knows I don’t spoil myself very often, so he is happy for me indeed.

I told him that I don’t need a thing for Mother’s Day but I would love for him to drive me to a garden party that a fellow writer is giving next Sunday. I don’t drive much except around my own familiar paths to grocery, mall, doctor and dentist. Bob used to take me places I couldn’t drive to and now that falls to my son. I try not to ask him to do things that I can do myself.

We live a simple life in the old house of thirty-one years. I have watched the kids next door grow up and the boy is getting married this fall. I take daily walks through the familiar streets. Tonight I introduced myself to a new neighbor who was putting her touch on some old rosebushes. “I’m Vicki,” I said. “I’m Yvonne, nice to meet you.” And I continued on my walk, stopping to pet a Heinz 57 mutt on a leash.

In the same way, we meet together online,  shaking hands and telling simple things about ourselves. I like that. No fancy introductions needed. LIFE WITH A HOLE IN IT sits on my coffee table with a handmade cross on top of it. Until I wrote that, I was mired in grief. Now the little book is out there in the world as well as in my heart. I have a feeling that those of you who have ordered and read it feel as if you know me beyond hello. I hope so.

My writing arises from a place of devastation. Out of that has arisen my voice, my healing and my present peace. One day perhaps you will know what I am talking about when I speak of a place of devastation. The richness of the dark and crumbled soil has grown a life of its own. It is that I share with you.