Summer Dawn at the Shore

A new venture. I have one new subscriber, after me. If I could double every day, like the advice of saving a penny or dollar, doubling every day, from the time, you are eighteen, think of the fortune. Saving is sometimes easier than earning.

I felt a little down that summer would pass me by and I wouldn't build up my equity in writing. My goals would slide over the horizon, just as the daylight decreases after a few weeks of solstice where the sun stabilizes with over fifth teen hours of sunlight a day in my area. Today, the times change and we are at fifth teen even. It is the feeling summer is fleeing away.

My doubts I will accomplish my goals. I want to finish the first draft of my sequel. I want to climb Mt. Tammany in New Jersey, overlooking the Delaware Water Gap where I-80 passes over from Pennsylvania. I knew last week, I was treating the Fourth of July week as a holiday week, but the nudging remained. I couldn't focus and I didn't feel clear.

Today, I received emails encouraging me on my walk, on what I feel are my God given ministry. Especially, the writing, that always feels like no one else sees it as importantly as I do or should I say as seriously. I struggle as many writers do with the imposter syndrome. Who said I could write? Who said my writing has any value? The emails and posts on Facebook, as well as ones in my Facebook memories boosted my resolve. I will write and I will build up my muscles to climb that mountain.

In an email for this platform, I see I had a new subscriber this morning. This pushed me on. Can this be compounded daily? Is it too much to hope for? I feel like a summer dawn at the shore.

I promise with this site to write something new every day. At least for my fourteen day free trial. If you want to get another feel for my writing, I published on Substack-@mollielyon, Mollie's Substack and Medium- Mollie Lyon. Actually, there are two on Medium because of me trying to post on my phone. Check out the one with more than one story. Ghost platform represents new and fresh to me, today. It is the hope I have this morning.

So bear with me with these short introductions. Remember I'm trying to finish a first draft, live with my husband in his retirement and get my exercise and swimming at the neighborhood pool, dodging the summer storms. I discovered an interesting thing this morning, too.

July thirteenth in 2008, my mother passed away. The days are the same as the dates in that year. My daughters are going away for a weekend because one doesn't get paid time off. They are going to New York City and Martha's Vineyard, over four days, flying, of course. I thought how when I worked per diem when my girls were young, I hardly could take those week long vacations, because I couldn't afford to not work for a week or ten days.

Now, that wasn't the reason, I only planned a short vacation the year my mother passed. I graduated to full time, after my husband's job left the area. He, then, found a well paying job six hours away. He didn't get much time off in those early years. The plan that year was driving six hours after work to his apartment, do something in the Poconos on Thursday and then Friday morning when he was off work, drive to Block Island, Rhode Island. I had reservations all ready, even down to the ferry.

At my last visit, my personal phone rang. I saw the ID was my brother. I knew good news was not the subject. Mom returned to the hospital with congestive heart failure. I drove straight to the ER from my visit. She was in good spirits, and I thought this will be a short stay with Lasix and a Foley catheter to drain the fluids. Even the next morning, I thought, well no Poconos, but we can still do Block Island. We even thought she was going back to the nursing home.

The doctor walked into the room.

"Am I going today?" Mom spunkily asked.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Heaven, I hope."

Dan, my brother, and I lifted our heads. The doctor kind of chuckled. "I guess we all do."

I did sta-cation with my girls later that day. They slept in as teens, so I let them. Then we spent a day in Youngstown, a Jewish deli, an Italian market, an Islamic market, the Butler Art Museum and the Arms Family Museum. Then the hospital in the evening for me.

Friday, a turn for the worse, but we had been down this road, just the month before. "She's a tough old bird," Danny declared.

Even Saturday evening, after she stopped talking, I left thinking she would pull out of this. Earlier that afternoon, after the renal doctor came in saying she needed dialysis, which we agreed that's not what my mom wanted, Mom seemed a little unsure.

"Mom, you know Jesus. You don't have to be afraid."

She agreed, and seemed to fall asleep, but she didn't wake from that sleep. Dan had me leave around midnight or so. I agreed I would come back after church. The call came at ten to seven. We still used land lines then, I reached over my sleeping husband to grab the phone.

"It's over. She's gone," is all Dan said.

I sat up. "It's ten days to Dad's birthday. He just told Jesus to bring his sweetheart home for his birthday."

The deluge of rain that morning seemed to do the crying for me. I called the churches, but didn't go myself. I cleaned the house, expecting visitors.

That evening after that cleansing rain, there was no humidity. The concert at the park on a perfect summer evening was like my mom loved. Two little blonde hair girls dancing in pretty sun dresses made me think of how my mom described my older sisters and I knew she was watching. If anyone had seen me that night, they would not have guessed my mother died that morning. I danced as I walked my dog.

I wonder if again, the weather will be the same as seventeen years ago. So much has changed. I hadn't pursued my writing career at that point(you could almost say, her death inspired me to write down the stories of family). I wrote, but not published. I started a story as we found out about my ancestors in my new town. Mom, in the car, looked at my notes, then glanced at the story. "Oh, you're writing a story."

As a child, she listened to my stories. When I put them to writing, she edited and typed them for me. She always believed I could do anything I put my mind to. She often told me after I graduated from my diploma school for nursing, "You could have gone to college. We could have afforded it."

That wasn't the point. Practicality took over for a job. I would always have a job. I still always have a job. The possibilities are endless, even at sixty four. At fifty, I chose writing and I'm still chasing it, like the summer dawn at the shore.