It was the hardest decision I ever had to
make, it was either go to my mother’s
funeral or chase my dream. Just when I
thought everything might go well, I get
the call and my world falls apart at the seams.
I don’t know how it happened, and neither do my
family members or the doctors; all we know is that
it happened and she’s never coming back. The woman
that birthed me, loved me, nurtured me, cared for me,
supported me despite the odds and stood with me when
no one else would. And now, she’s gone. Gone before she
could reap the rewards she’d fought so hard for.
She died on the day my novel became a best-seller, so the
Victory is bittersweet. The mixture of joy and pain in my mind
And heart run deep, so deep that when I sleep it permeates through
I’ve been able to cope with it over the recent years, the tours,
The interviews, the press conferences, the appearances,
The readings, the book signings. All of it had kept my mind
Off her death at times, but when all is said and done and I
Lay with my wife, the second woman to give me life, I think
Of the first. I think of mom.
She died when I became a best-seller, a bitter sweet
thing. At least I had the money to give a proper funeral
and hire professional voices to sing. She was buried in
a cemetery in New Jersey (I forget the name but know how
to get there), she was the starkest Yankee’s fan and she said she
wanted to be buried in a Babe Ruth jersey.
A funny request but her last wish is my command, it still saddens
Me that she died before she could hold her son’s novel in her hand.
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