I was getting ready for Easter at the park. I was having a bit of a hard day. My brother called and asked me how I was. I said, “I’m okay.” He said, “You don’t sound okay.”
I started to cry. His caring touched my heart, and I felt free to be vulnerable. I said, “Every now and then, I find myself revisiting moments of insecurity.” Immediately, I felt embarrassed. He is strong, not someone I normally talk feelings with. I started to backtrack.
He must have noticed and said, “Listen, sis, breathe. Let’s first get in this moment, out of the past.” My brother, a PhD in science, was suddenly leading me through what felt like a meditation moment with Deepak Chopra.
Then he said, “You haven’t always had it easy. People, myself included, have been pretty mean to you sometimes.” He went on to say he was proud of my strength.
A release of pressure. I didn’t even realize how much had been contained. Comforting tears welled up.
At least with him, I felt free because his memories matched mine.
I have spent so much time trying to scrub memories, telling myself it didn’t really happen the way I remember, that maybe I was just too sensitive or seeing it wrong. His acknowledgment felt like medicine, a balm for some old hurts.
It wasn’t just about him. In that moment, it felt like he was speaking for all of it, saying, “I saw it too. It wasn’t in your head.”
And then, just like that, we slipped back into us. His wisdom, both of us overthinking and analyzing everything, and somewhere in between, our shared laughter. The call didn’t just comfort me, it shifted something in me. Not all of it, maybe, but enough to feel lighter.
A short work of fiction inspired by my father. He’s been on my mind lately.
I had to call my brother.
“Brady, I don’t know where to start. I need to figure out how to tell you.”
In his usual fashion, he said, “You want me to call you back in two weeks so you can figure it out?”
He is such a brat, but in the most fun way.
“What is it, Sis?”
“Brady, I received a letter from Dad saying he is still alive.”
“What? No. This has to be a sick joke.”
“I know, Bro. But what if…”
“Are you home now?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I’ll be right over.”
I had not moved since I hung up the phone. I sat there in shock, reading the letter over and over, as if the repetition would make the words different.
He was the only one who ever used that name, and there it was.
Hello Sweet Ruckus,
Guess what? I am still here.
You must keep this to yourself. I mean that. No one is to know, except Brady, and he must understand the same.
This isn’t secrecy for drama. It’s necessity. My safety depends on it.
I’ll explain everything when I see you. Until then, trust me and stay quiet.
The knock felt more like a pounding, sharp enough to pull me back into the present.
“Hold on, Brady. I’m coming.”
I rushed toward the door, the letter still clenched in my hand, its edges bent now.
When I opened it, they were there.
Brady.
And my dad.
For a breathless second, I questioned it. There was something in his expression, maybe a pause, but I pushed it aside.
I rushed into him, burying my face against his chest, tears spilling freely, soaking the floor beneath us. His arms closed around me, strong and familiar, the kind of embrace that once made the world feel manageable.
Just as his arms tightened and I let myself sink into him,
Lilly started walking fast toward the journalism club. She was so excited. Everything was coming together, but as she got closer, she felt herself falling out of place. Her confidence began to shatter as she recalled her dad’s conversation and all the inner dialogue she had been playing.
Is this even possible? I am probably fooling myself. I do tend to dream, but remember, dreaming is a great motivator. Come on, girl, you’ve got this.
Just as she opened the door, her aplomb stood up. Even if it was a “fake it until you make it” moment, she’d take it. The door felt stuck, but maybe it was because she was still shaking. She let go, took a deep breath, and firmly grabbed it with extra strength, and it opened nicely. The room was cool and very quiet.
She didn’t get very far before a tall man greeted her. Though friendly, he was intimidating, and her phony bologna confidence act began to shatter. Since she stood frozen, the man approached, and it was clear he saw how uncomfortable she was.
“Welcome. My name is Greg Thomas. Who do I have the pleasure of meeting today, and how can I help you?”
He was so nice.
Lilly smiled and said, “My name is Lillian Frank, but my friends just call me Lilly. I am here to find out more about this club. I think that I would very much like to become a member. I was hoping I could speak to someone and learn about what you offer, and if I might be well suited to join.”
He smiled and responded quickly. “Looks like you found me. I happen to be the club president. I was just heading out for the day when you entered.”
“Oh no, Mr. Thomas. I can come back another time if that is better.”
“Not necessary. I am more than happy to help, and please, call me Greg. Come into my office.”
She was getting more excited. It seemed he was eager to consider her already, or was she just hoping?
He said that he needed to know more about her first.
“So, tell me, Lilly, how long have you been pursuing a degree in journalism? We usually only consider those who have already completed their prerequisites and are well on their way to graduating.”
She paused and took a deep breath. “Sir, I mean Greg, I’m a senior undergraduate. My degree has been in veterinary science.”
Greg looked confused. He started explaining that she may have wandered into the wrong place. This was a journalism club for aspiring journalists.
She scowled at him. Displaced anger was real. The same defensiveness she had felt with her dad rose up again.
“Yes, sir, I know. But you see, I have been thinking about this for a long time. I want to become a journalist instead.”
“Listen, sir,” she continued, no longer wanting to call him Greg. “Is there a rule at this college that says a person can’t change paths? I don’t think so.”
She took a breath.
“I know I’m a good writer. I’m certain many credits will transfer. I’ve written, and I’ve even been published in the local paper. I’m serious about this, and I’m capable.”
She hesitated, then added, her tone tempered, “I would welcome the opportunity to prove myself, if you’ll let me.”
She realized she may have been disrespectful. His small grin, followed by a brief laugh, made her wonder if he was mocking her. Then he leaned in.
“Lilly, I apologize if I came across as dismissive,” he said. “I hear your determination, and you’ll need that spunk, and plenty of it, as a journalist.”
“I would consider you on two conditions. First, you need to get all your logistics in order. We only accept members who are actively working toward a journalism degree.”
“Second, I want you to write a piece explaining how you came to the decision to become a journalist, what you hope for your future, and why we should consider you.”
She had asked for a chance, and this was it.
To be continued.
Tag, you’re it. If you’d like to join me in the fun, feel free to comment below. If not, I’ll keep the story moving, bit by bit.
A heartfelt thank you to Lori Sillman for adding the next bit. Her contribution has helped keep this story alive. I love how she captured Lilly’s mix of doubt, hope and determination. She added depth without changing her voice.
To all readers, comment below if you’d like to join in or even just offer ideas or direction of where you would like it to go. If not, that is perfectly fine. It is just for fun. I will keep weaving, bit by bit, but just like when we sit together, this story is even better when we create it, side by side.
Here’s the next bit, written by Lori…
Lilly couldn’t help but feel some of the disappointment and self-doubt that his words prodded, but she also knew she would only be unfulfilled by giving up the dream. She tossed about the idea of doing both. She could continue the last bit of her degree in veterinary school while taking classes in journalism. Would that honor her dad, and her mom’s memory, or just waste more money, slowing down her new career?
“Dad, I want to make you proud. I am sorry to let you down. I have to pursue this. I’ll work on the side and help pay my way.”
Paul could never let his baby feel like a disappointment. “Alright, Lilly. We’ll work together, and just so you know, your mom and I have always been proud of you. We may have shook our heads at your changing pursuits, but we love your ability to dream big!”
Lilly felt relieved, excited, and under more pressure than ever. She immediately looked at what classes she would need to enroll in. Thankfully, the guidance counselor knew Lilly. She not only helped Lilly wade through the credits and classes that worked for her new degree path, she let Lilly in on a little secret.
“There is a journalism club on campus that works with the profs and classes. They get to travel all over and receive credit for on-the-job training. There are multiple destinations. I can have the club president get in touch with you, if you’re interested.”
“Are you serious? I cannot believe it. Really, all this for me?”
“Yes, Lilly. This is yours, and you deserve every bit of it.”
Her father had been plotting and saving for years. Paul stood there in quiet awe, looking at his baby girl.
Lilly had completed her third year of college. It had taken her five years, though. Regardless, she was well on her way to becoming the veterinarian she had always wanted to be. Then, unexpectedly, she changed direction. She wanted to be a journalist.
Her favorite part of college had always been anything to do with writing. More and more, her thoughts drifted there. She could see herself traveling with her laptop, pen in hand, going on adventures and writing about them. The research aspect fit perfectly with her insatiable curiosity. It felt like a dream job.
She met his eyes.
“Why wouldn’t I pursue something that calls to me?” she said. “Surely, Dad, you wouldn’t want to hold me back from my desire to reach for the stars.”
Paul discouraged her at first.
“Lilly, absolutely not. I can’t afford to keep funding trial-and-error pursuits. And you know your mother would have wanted you to finish what you start.”
He paused, then continued, unable to stop himself.
“I’m certain you can still hear her voice as she dragged you to every practice, every event. ‘Lilly, you are going, and that’s it!’ You tried everything, art, dancing, debate. Remember the night you ran into our room convinced you were meant to be an influencer?”
He shook his head, a tired smile flickering.
“I didn’t believe it would last. They rarely did.”
Lilly felt the familiar defensive heat rise.
“Dad, you’re exaggerating, and you know it. Those weren’t failures. I was a kid learning who I am. You make it sound like a bad thing.”
Paul softened.
“Honey, I understand. But you’re a senior now, pursuing the one thing you’ve always wanted, your own veterinary clinic. I’ve watched you stay the course. Even through your mother’s cancer. Even after she died.”
His voice wavered.
“You never stopped showing up for her. You never stopped showing up for yourself. And now, just as you’re about to start your fourth year, you suddenly want to change everything.”
To be continued.
Tag you are it. If not, that’s ok too. Still, more to come.
The only ones that come to mind from my own upbringing are putting up the Christmas tree on Thanksgiving night and everyone getting Christmas PJs on Christmas Eve. I’ll be honest, I never really thought traditions were that important, that is, until I began seeing how my daughter’s mother-in-law operates.
At first, I thought it was excessive to have so many traditions, this from someone who thinks matching Christmas pajamas are perfectly reasonable. She has been calling our grandkids every year on the first day of school to sing them a traditional song, School Days, one her mom sang to her growing up. Also, if it were not for her having Blayk read The Night Before Christmas every year on Christmas Eve, it probably would not have happened. In fact, since he will be 18 this year, he has handed the torch to his sister.
Even though the grand wee ones are not religious or tied to a faith, every year they participate in Lent with her. How cool is that? Very.
Also, we, she and I, have also made new traditions. I go over on Christmas Eve and stay the night at my son-in-law and daughter’s home. After the kids open their presents on Christmas morning, we all climb into our vehicles and head over to Gama’s and G Daddy’s home to open more gifts. But before the opening begins, there is a Who Made the Best Omelet contest, because apparently Christmas morning is not complete without a little friendly competition. Of course, Gama has already prepared the winning prize, complete with a trophy every year. It is quite fun.
I remember feeling a way at times because she does so much with them. Boy, was I silly, but now I know. She has taught me not only the value of traditions, but also how they naturally bring our family together, creating moments that feel like “our thing” rather than anyone’s alone. She has shown me how to show up a bit more for my loves in this way, and I am so grateful. I believe she has helped instill traditions in our grand wee ones’ lives so deeply that they will continue them for many years to come.
She is a winner. The orneriest, wittiest, wisest, most entertaining, fun, curious, loyal, loved, easy laughing, unique, inspiring, honest, and beautiful lady of integrity there ever was. I’m not exaggerating!
Yes, she and Dad introduced me to God, and for that I am eternally grateful. She has shown up for all of her loves, over and over again. She instilled in me the notion that thoughts are things, and each and every day, I reflect on the gift she gave me.
It was afternoon, just after school, as I recall. We were cleaning the counter, and I don’t remember what she was responding to. I can only imagine I was expressing a less than enthusiastic attitude about having to do chores, lol.
Anyway, I still hear her voice.
Don’t get me wrong, she isn’t perfect. But dang, she comes close. I say this because ever since I can remember, she’s put up with my shenanigans, and when we’ve faced friction (usually my doing), she never stopped proving her unconditional love.
There is no one more deserving of my respect and admiration.
She isn’t tall, but if you mess with one of her loves, well, let’s all be glad she doesn’t carry.
Despite her being a bit of a private introvert, when it comes to family, furry and otherwise, they are her world entire.
And one more thing, don’t just take my word for it. She is so cherished, so adored, and so deeply loved by her devoted husband, Papa, her sissy, her four other children and their spouses, all her many grands, thirty plus in all, including all her grands and great grands. Then there are the nieces, nephews, not to mention her many familial friends, all of which cherish the treasure she is. Her magical self continues to touch so many lives.
Mama, when it comes to you, finding what’s right always comes easily, the easiest in fact.
We all know time passes. We learn that fast, sometimes too fast. And we all figure out eventually that we are not here forever. Death is part of the deal. It is not a surprise, and yet it always is.
It boggles my entire being that I have an eighteen-year-old granddaughter. Not just any granddaughter, but my new roomie. Hilarious, full of fire and fun, she brings energy into every corner of the room. Nothing about her is quiet. She is bold and brilliant and beautifully complex, just like the women who came before her. She has my heart.
And then there is Blayk, my soon-to-be seventeen-year-old grandson. My only boy. He is becoming one of the best men I have ever known. There is something steady in him, a deep well of compassion and strength that humbles me. He is rising into himself with grace, and I am honored to see it. He has my heart.
My middle granddaughter, my shining Mady Skye Pie, is just two weeks away from her golden birthday. Thirteen. The edge of something magical. She is a blend of sparkle and steel. She is thoughtful and creative. She is already showing signs of becoming a force in the world, just like the women who came before her. She has my heart.
And then there is my baby-girl Rachel, now seven. Uniquely cool, endlessly lovable, and deeply missed. I carry her giggles in my memory like a favorite song I can’t stop humming. She has my heart.
This life, these children, these moments, these years… they move through me like a wind I never saw coming, but I would not live without. I would not trade a single second of watching them grow. I love them fully. I remember every version of who they have been and who they are becoming.
