Goodbye Mother,

It has been a while since I felt like writing. Long story short, my mom died three and a half years ago. Before she got sick, she called me and said,

“Tammy, I am finally ready to start writing my children’s storybooks.”

I was elated. I had been asking her for years to get started. My mom was a literacy major, a college professor, and secretly wanted to become a writer. I never knew we had the same goals. She was often very quiet about what she wanted, always putting others before herself. She was a devoted mother of five and a beloved wife to my dad. We were her first priority. Everything else—including her dreams and her health—played second fiddle.

My mom had many health issues, but her heart was the major concern. She had to undergo heart surgery, and she was severely overweight. She survived the surgery, but complications afterward led to her early passing. She told the nurse,

“I have to get out of here alive so I can write my books.”

The nurse told me she was doing everything possible to help my mom get back on her feet, but the complications proved too much.

After she passed, I reached out to my brother for her manuscript. I wanted to try to finish at least one of her stories, if she had already started. Unfortunately, she had only written the dedication page. I was crushed. My heart was broken. She gave us her best. We had an amazing childhood. She deserved to be published and esteemed for the wonderful stories I had spent my entire life enjoying. But for years, I could not find the energy to pick up my computer and write anything.

Now, I am back. I’ve found the energy and stamina. I now know what my mom faced—trying to manage work, family, and being a good citizen. The demands are huge, but I, too, have something I want to leave for future generations. I want them to hear my voice. I will not spend all my time seeing about everyone but me. Today, I speak through my writing and my story.

I dedicate this to Yvonne Marie Harden (Williams). I will continue on with our gift and blessing.