dots make diamonds...

my pieces

Is it possible that
I didn’t give you all of my pieces,
Because I was afraid you would take them with you?

Dear Daughter

My mother ordered a "dear daughter" locket for me before she passed away.  My aunt sent it to me for Christmas (imagine that cryfest.)  The inside of the necklace says "I was never so blessed as the day you were born.  I love you!"  Well today is my birthday so, mom, I love you too and thank you.

Dear Oprah,

Dear Oprah,

Valerie Courtney here- I’m fresh out of college and get this, my mother just lost her 8 year battle with cancer, a month shy of my 23rd birthday and what would have been her 59th. Christmas is around the corner and since Santa is probably swamped I thought I’d send my wish to you instead. I’m intent on writing a book chronicling the experience my family and I shared as we guided my mother through the dying process in her own home (with the much needed help of hospice nurses of course.)

My fear is this: I’ve been freelance designing for some time now and I can barely make my rent let alone pay for health insurance. So the next step is to set out to find a full-time job with benefits, however, I still don’t know what I want to be now that I’m all grown up. And I’m terrified of ending up at a job where everyone eats at their desks and works until 9pm. If that were the case, I would have no time to write and the story inside me might curl up and die in a dusty corner of my mind.

I’ve never been published, so in that sense, I guess I'm an amateur. However, I’ve been writing since I was a child, so I’m confident that with the right backing and a bit of coaching, I could produce something worth reading. I also feel strongly that the topic I intend to write about will hit home with a very vast audience. The “curse that is cancer” is no doubt prevalent in the hearts of so many people. I bet there’s not one soul that can say he/she has not been touched by the effects of this mysterious disease. My experience with it has surprisingly been a transcendent one. In telling my story, I aim to bring hope to individuals that are faced with a similar situation. I’ve always known that nothing in life happens exactly the way you expect it to and my mother’s death was no exception to that decree.

Some might think it’s silly to be writing to you, but all I want in doing so is to send my wish out into the universe. And whoever it is “they” are, say: it never hurts to try. I always come back to this and I think Walt Whitman said it best in his “Song of Myself,”

All goes onward and outward, Nothing collapses. And to die is different from what anyone supposed, and luckier.

Thank you for giving me a reason to set my plan in motion. Even if nothing comes of this, I’ll feel like I’ve done just that.

Valerie Courtney

Hi Oprah, it's Val.

So I’m about to turn the ripe age of 23 and my mother’s cancer just closed up shop.  In technical terms I’m a motherless, illegitimate, only child.  But sincerely, the whole experience was quite transcendent.  All of a sudden I have this spiritual story to tell and I want to share it with everyone I care about.  However, no matter how badly I want to relive my tale for friends whom will appreciate it, it’s pretty exhausting to tell it day after day.  So my long- term goal is to put the whole thing on paper and ring up Oprah when I’m ready for a book tour.  I thought I’d tickle two birds with one feather by jotting down vignettes here on this lonely little blog {that I pay for and seldom make use of.}  Not only will I be able to sketch the chapters of my “highly anticipated” novel, perhaps I can speak to those of you that just can’t wait to hear all about it.  First let me say, I’ve only got a handful of English courses on my resume- all I am sure of is that I know a story that's itching to be heard.  If anyone knows the first thing about writing books or knows someone who does I’d love to hear from you/him/her/Oprah.  Here it goes:

Titles–

#1– Teenie’s Big Gift {a ‘lil contrived I know, but I never pass up an opportunity to sneak in an oxymoron}

#2– “The Happiness That Attends Disaster” from Jeffrey Eugenides’, Middlesex {not sure about the legality of using a quote from another novel as the title of yours, plus maybe this one’s a little scary}

Ok I obviously need to keep that on the backburner.

I’ve decided that the ever-present theme of my story is simply this: my mother left my family and I with a super, special gift.  Believe me when I tell you it wasn’t a monetary inheritance whatsoever, rather a sneak peek at what life (and death) really have to offer.
In life, Teenie (mom) was known to all as the ultimate gift giver.  She’d  give you ten trinkets for one occasion and be content if you truly liked one out of the ten.  I must confess that while she was on her deathbed, I told her I loved a certain shower curtain she gave me even though I didn’t, but that’s not something that a bit of professional counseling can’t help me get over.  Anyhow, at first I thought that being front and center during her transition out of this world was ONE BIG GIFT.  Upon reflection I came to appreciate that even in death, she doled out not one gift but dozens.  This is where the structure (if any) of my story comes into play.  Each person involved during her dying process proved to be one of Teenie’s Treasures.  I’m thinking of forming each chapter around one out of a dozen or so of those people.

A natural person to start with would be my cousin, Alison.  Let’s call this vignette (all titles are temporary):

*Like Siblings

My first cousin, Alison was present at all of the beginnings.  She was the one who showed up when my mother was first cursed with breast cancer.  Alison moved in with us straight after graduating college.  She entered stage right just when we needed her most.  She dressed me up for the middle school dance that I was pressured into but had no desire going to.  She rescued me from my teenybopper-self by introducing me to real music that wasn’t Hanson or The Spice Girls.  And she taught me that Sundays were so worth looking forward to: sleep in, don’t shower, watch smart shows on HBO.  The Alison/Valerie/Teenie era is worth writing about, but that’s another story.  Alison was also the person that my mother designated as the bearer of the bad news that marked the beginning of the end.  The conversation between us over dinner on a mid- November evening in 2007, went something like this:

Val, nonchalantly: Al, can you please pass the ketchup? 

Al, in all seriousness: Val, I have something to tell you.

Val, still oblivious:  You’re pregnant!.. getting married!.. sex change?

Al, straightforwardly: Your mom asked me to tell you that the chemo’s not working and it is only a matter of time.

Here she whips out the economy size box of tissues and I precede sobbing with,

“I’m not ready.”

Then two days after I had returned home from visiting my mother for Thanksgiving, my cousin/sister and I were on the earliest flight back out to Cleveland because the truth was, Teenie’s health was declining faster than any of us could have expected.

TBC…