My Journey to Fulfilling My Mom’s Last Wish – #MotherDaughter #Legacy #ForeverLove @elhughes01

By Emily Hughes Johnson (Guest Blogger)

I remember everything about that day in 1995. It was not long after my family had moved from Aspen, CO to Pinehurst, NC. We’d just returned home from shopping when my parents asked if I’d sit down - they needed to talk to me. I’d known for a while something was going on. I even accused my mom of being pregnant, to which she replied “no, but thanks for thinking I could be.” Down the road this would become a running joke between the two of us.

By the look on their faces though, I knew that whatever they wanted to talk to me about was serious. The big “C” word briefly passed through my mind, but I rejected it just as quickly. My parents were invincible. So, I took my seat on the couch in the TV den and waited for them to lay it on me.

“Honey, I have breast cancer.”

Wait! What did she just say? That’s not possible! But it was, and at the tender age of 13 my entire world changed. “Do you have any questions you’d like to ask?” she continued.

When you’re young (or maybe any age) there is a singular question that comes to mind at times like this - “are you going to die?” I saw my mom quickly glance at my dad, who for the first time in my memory looked a bit lost. Only now, years later as a mother myself, have I been able to fully grasp what it must have been like for them to have this conversation with me.

“Not if I can help it. I’m not going anywhere until I’m damn well ready to.” That was my mom. Feisty and stubborn to the core.

My mom caught her breast cancer early thanks to a monthly self-exam. As an aside, if I may say, this is why it is SO IMPORTANT to do your monthly checks! After having the tumor removed and going through a course of radiation, life seemed to go back to normal. There were many days…weeks even…when the “C” word didn’t even enter my mind. But it was all the calm before the storm.

At 15 years old, I found myself sitting on the same couch. Not only was I older with a better understanding of the fact that “no, your parents aren’t invincible,” but this time it was worse. After several tests, my mom was diagnosed with advanced stage ovarian cancer and while she would never admit it to me, I could tell by the look on her face that this was much more serious.

If you look at the numbers back then, the prognosis for advanced stage ovarian cancer wasn’t good. A few years at best. And suddenly I wondered: would she be there to help me get ready for the prom, see me graduate from high school or college or walk down the aisle? Would she ever have the chance to be a grandmother? All questions that had no answers.

But once again my mother, stubborn as a mule, refused to accept the statistics. She immediately began researching and found a group of doctors willing to turn away from the statistics as well. Her goal? To watch me walk down the aisle. Mind you, I was only 15 – she was asking a lot but wouldn’t settle for less.

She endured countless surgeries, rounds of chemotherapy and setbacks, many of which seemed to align oddly enough with my final exams in high school and college. As a former educator, it wasn’t unusual to see my mom sitting in her hospital bed shortly after surgery with my notes and textbooks lying next to her as I paced back and forth while she quizzed me. My mom’s cancer was no excuse not to excel academically.

Let me pause and rewind a bit. Not long after her initial ovarian cancer diagnosis, my mom began writing a book. A way to escape from her own mortality, she delved into the world of her characters for hours at a time, writing…researching…re-writing and researching some more. I’d often ask what she was writing about, but she’d just give me a sly smile and tell me I’d know eventually. It would be many years before this would happen.

And so, the time passed. Never once did she let cancer become central to our lives. She focused on it when she needed to and shoved it to the back when she didn’t. My mom’s illness was always hanging around, but my parents did a wonderful job of ensuring I lived as normal of a childhood as possible and in 2011 (a statistical impossibility mind you) my mom watched me walk down the aisle. And those doctors? Well, they were there too.

For us it was a celebration of epic proportion. She’d outlived the doctor’s initial prognosis over a decade! And a lot of that was because she refused to give up.

Unfortunately, we lost mom in December of 2012. It all happened rather quickly at the end and the memory of those last few days will haunt me forever. But I was lucky in the sense that I had a chance to say goodbye. We had a long conversation the night before she went on life support. It wasn’t a conversation about anything in particular. We reminisced. We apologized for little moments in the past that meant very little, but somehow meant so much. We talked about hopes and dreams and wishes. It was one of those surreal conversations during which you just know everything you want to say needs to be said and you leave one another with a sense of comfort that yes, everything will be alright.

“I love you,” was the last thing we ever said to one another – a big gift that very few people have a chance to get. But the biggest gift was yet to come.

Not long after my mom passed, I found a copy of her unfinished manuscript and a letter addressed to me.

"...I know now that this is where my story ends, so I hope you will begin where I left off. I will watch over you through the good times and the bad. I will be there with you to share the joys of becoming a mom, and I will be there watching as you and Matt grow old together. And each night I will be there to whisper sweet dreams. I love you."                                                                                               

- Forever and Beyond, Mom

She was entrusting me with the story of her characters. The story that she’d spent hours…days…years creating. This wasn’t just a gift. It was the ultimate gift.

When I first sat down to read Bird of Paradise, I had no idea if I would be able to finish it or not. At first reading her words was therapeutic. Through them, I was able to continue having a conversation with her. It was clear to me that while Bird of Paradise was a work of fiction, it was also meant to put into words through the lives and story of her characters, the lessons and guidance she wanted to leave me in the event she couldn’t do it herself.

Picking up in the middle of someone else’s story is a task in and of itself when there is no emotion involved. But this…well this was like climbing Everest without oxygen. Not that I’ve tried that – it was just a herculean task for me to even read the story without falling to pieces. She left no notes or outline for me to follow and looking back, I think she always intended me to be the one to finish the story and therefore wanted to give me the freedom to take it wherever I wanted. Fortunately, she’d firmly created all but one character – I had a name and that character’s part in the story but nothing else. After reading and re-reading repeatedly, I began to form a story in my mind and suddenly I knew exactly where to take her characters. I even ended up writing the end before anything else. I had the story line! I could do this!

Like my mom, a lot of what I wrote was based on reality. On places I’ve been, things that I’ve seen and emotions that I’ve felt. My mom had given me a way to immortalize my legacy as well for my son and I wanted to pass that on like she did for me.

But then came the technical part. I’m not a fictional writer. Well, I guess I am now, but not back then. A marketing and advertising professional by day, my writing style is by nature more succinct and to the point. My mom’s writing style is flowing, descriptive and rich. This was her story, and I was determined to carry her style of writing throughout. After I wrote the first draft, I had to go back repeatedly adding layer upon layer of description almost as if I was painting with oils. It was important to me that no one ever be able to tell where that black and white line was – where she stopped, and I started. And to this day, I’m thrilled to say no one (not even my publisher) knows. I changed very little of the part she wrote. I simply added to it to ensure that there was an unbroken flow of prose and storyline.

As I mentioned, my mom did an immense amount of research to ensure the accuracy of the settings in which Bird of Paradise takes place and the events that were happening at the time. I needed to do the same. But what made this a difficult task to accomplish was the fact that Bird of Paradise tells the story of 17-year-old Arianna Heywood, who when we first meet her is living in San Francisco in 1967, as had my mom been. Arianna’s story spans a decade long journey of self-discovery – a decade I never lived through, making it impossible to write from memories of places, faces and events.

Eight years on and I finally typed “The End.” It was a very emotional moment for me as I felt like I was finishing the last chapter (no pun intended) of my life with my mom. I never intended to publish Bird of Paradise. I just happened to be in the right place and that right time and suddenly I found myself with a published novel. Bird of Paradise was released on March 29^th, 2021 – on what would have been my mom’s 71^st birthday.

I don’t know if or when I’ll write another story. There’s one floating around in my head, but whether it gets from there to the pages of a book is anyone’s guess. What I do know is that collaborating with my mom and melding our stories together has been the gift of a lifetime and I’m beyond honored that she entrusted me with Arianna’s story. And now, I am even more honored to share her story with the world.

This one’s for you mom. Sweet Dreams. I love You

-Forever and Beyond, Emily

Website: www.emilyjohnsonwrites.net

Twitter: @ehughes01

Instagram: @ejohnson2014

Amazon Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08ZYX339Z

Excerpt

That was the day she began imagining the man with whom she would share her own sunsets. And as young women often do, she began molding the image of him in her mind, and it acquired detail and depth until one day, she imagined him into reality. The sunsets they shared were everything she knew they would be – wet, warm bodies and cool Island breezes, lusty red wine, and Van Gogh skies. But even her wildest imaginings couldn’t prepare her for the sunrises and how she would feel each time she awoke beside him, listening for the changes in the pattern of his breathing, watching for that moment just before waking when he would stretch and roll and reach out for her. “Arianna,” he would whisper and nothing more.

The sun was in its descending arc over the western headland now It was an artist’s sun, all big and orange, spreading its sepia light over the Island, transforming it from brilliant contrasts to silhouetted images against a vibrant sky. There was a light trail that extended across the lagoon and out to the open seas, a golden touch she had called it when she was very young. But first she needed to cry the tears she had been suppressing all that day. It wasn’t a moment of weakness. She just needed to leave the tears behind. And when the last one had descended her cheek and dissolved into the fabric of her linen shirt, she knew she was ready. So, she resettled herself on the sleek wooden bench that grandfather had so lovingly crafted out of a single koa log all those years ago and into which he and Mem had carved their names, and then Mama and Papa had done the same after them. She followed the light trail as far as she could see and searched the horizon until she found what she was looking for – the ferry that was sailing away with everything she loved most in this world. She stared at it for a very long time, watching it grow smaller and smaller. Then she closed her eyes and tried to remember what her life had been like before Michael.”

About the Authors

 

Marilyn Anne Hughes

Marilyn was born in Southern California but spent her formative years the San Francisco Bay Area with her parents and older sister.  She graduated from the University of California, Berkeley with a degree in Sociology and received an advanced degree in Elementary Education.  After moving with her husband to Aspen, Colorado Marilyn spent the next 20 years as a public-school teacher and elementary education consultant and lecturer.  She and her family moved to Pinehurst, North Carolina in 1996 and shortly thereafter she was diagnosed with breast and advanced ovarian cancer. She began writing Bird of Paradise as a life gift for her daughter, Emily.  She passed away in 2012 leaving the novel unfinished – for Emily to complete. 

Emily Hughes Johnson

Emily was born in Aspen, Colorado where she enjoyed skiing, dancing ballet and playing golf.  At the age of 13, she and her family moved to Pinehurst, North Carolina.  She played competitive golf and was a member of the Nike All-American Junior Team. She attended UNC-Chapel Hill and graduated with a degree in Journalism and Mass Communication with a concentration in Public Relations. From a young age, Emily was fascinated by Pompeii and Mount Vesuvius leading her to an intensive study of Mediterranean Archeology while at UNC. 

After graduation, Emily began her professional career in the Marketing Department at the PGA TOUR before moving on to agency work. She eventually moved back to North Carolina where she began writing grants for a professional ballet company before starting a freelance marketing and consulting business. 

Emily currently resides in Raleigh, North Carolina with her husband and son and enjoys playing golf, running, kickboxing, reading, hiking, travelling, and spending time with her family. 

 

Giveaway

You could win a copy of Bird of Paradise. Just leave me a comment with your email address. I’ll pick two winners next Wednesday.