I knew my mother well
I never considered myself an author. In fact, part of the reason I chose to go to engineering school was that it didn’t involve a lot of writing. My master’s did not require a thesis! But when Mom died, my world was turned upside down and I was compelled to write about her unique life.
As I felt an emptiness knowing that I would never hear her laugh or listen to her motherly advice again, I tried to focus on the good times, and there were many. After she divorced my dad in 1959, the two of us were virtually connected at the hip. We were as close as any mother-daughter could be.
As her only child, only I (with the help of my supportive husband) had to clean her house to prepare it for sale. Every month the house lay fallow, the underlying costs were depleting my inheritance. Time was a waste. The task would have been as simple as backing up a dumpster and throwing it all out (as Mom had once suggested), but there was nostalgia in every trinket she touched.
Funny, or hilarious, stories accompanied each one and I couldn’t rush it. Failure to record the anecdotes would deprive others of knowing a woman of immense courage and independence. Frankly, she couldn’t see if she was allowing her stories to die with her. And who better to write them than me, the person who knew my mother best.
I was finishing my own race and could control my pace when it came to my “day job.” I was still dealing with an active and healthy father in his 90s and would travel 100 miles between his house and mine to spend quality time with him every two weeks. In between, I researched what writing a book entailed. 60,000 words? Oh darling. I wasn’t sure I could write more than 5,000 or 10,000. I had never tried it. But the words of Confucius echoed in my head: “The journey of 1,000 miles begins with the first step.”
I knew my mother’s timeline.
Telling his story chronologically would be easier for a newbie like me. One technique that I found helpful was to create a spreadsheet that served as a timeline. I systematically categorized his papers (legal documents, lease agreements, bank statements, canceled checks, plane tickets) and meticulously noted them on the timeline. I was able to use that not only as an outline for my narration, but also as a checkpoint to make sure I didn’t miss something important.
I even went back to the years before her birth in an effort to explain how her roots allowed a Philadelphia girl to become the doyen of the dog grooming world, restaurateur, mini real estate mogul, and best friend to a clique of gay youth.
I also knew my mother’s music.
Much of my mother’s life revolved around music and I wanted to make sure to incorporate that into my tribute to her. Each chapter is named after a well-known popular song during her lifetime, one that I heard her sing or that was relevant to the material in that chapter.
In piecing together her life, I realized that her many friends were able to fill in some missing details, as they also knew my mother well. I asked permission to use some of what I learned; other material was too bold to include!
Well, I thought I knew my mother well.