Back in July, we noticed my mom, who was only 61, was deteriorating in health quite rapidly, for no discernible reason. I had my suspicions as to what was going on, but I guess I didn't want to admit it. As the summer progressed, I kept having this feeling of impending dread, like something was going to happen, and I didn't know what; but knew that whatever it was, there was nothing I could do about it.
July rolled into August, and with it my first meet and greet, which went okay. I won't say great, but it did turn out better than I thought it would, so there's that at least. August morphed into September, which has notoriously been a bad month for me for the last 19 years (you'll understand why in a moment). My feeling of dread was growing steadily worse as the days ticked by. You see, back in 1997, my dad died in a helicopter crash in Bosnia on September 17th. (You can Google this if you want to know what I'm talking about.) The closer it got to the 17th the more ill at ease I became. On the 14th, my mom had dropped off the radar so to speak and we couldn't get a hold of her via phone or email, so I called and had a welfare check done. At that time, she was fine, so we thought. She told the deputies that her phones were not working properly. My husband and I were planning on going to her house on Saturday which was only a couple days away, but even with the welfare check and the sheriff's department saying she was okay, I didn't feel any better.
Saturday, I wake up and start to get dressed when my husband comes into the bedroom saying that a friend of my aunt's had just called and said we needed to get to my mom's house like right now, but wouldn't explain anything else. I muttered prayers to some unknown Gods and Goddesses (yes we're Pagan) and hoping for the best, but somehow, I knew. As we pulled into her driveway, there were emergency vehicles everywhere and my worst fear had been realized. I got up to the porch with our son and was told I needed to sit down. I refused and just said 'She's dead, isn't she?' When confirmed, I finally sat down, looked up and said 'You know what today is don't you?"
It was the 17th of September.
And it was cancer. If she knew she had it, she didn't tell anyone. Or maybe she didn't know. We'll never know obviously.
So yeah, I'm on a bit of a hiatus right now. I'm slowly starting to write again in fits and starts, but it's probably safe to say that 'The Journal of Furies' will NOT be released this winter. And that's okay.
And please, don't ask me how I am. I'm fine. Really. I promise.