Thank you to all my fellow writers and friends who’ve commented/or liked my last post about the challenge. I’d love to do this with other people. If you’re interested in joining me, let me know. I’d be happy to hook up our various blogs so we can all give each other feedback and encouragement. Feel free to share my initial post – here – if you think others might want in on the action. I have a pretty small following, so I’d appreciate any help getting the word out.
My goal is to complete this challenge by the end of April. Today I did an image search for BOOK, and this is what I grabbed. Enjoy!
Mariella wandered past her parent’s room, unable to face the items that needed sorting. Instead, she wandered further down the creaky hallway and stopped in front of her old bedroom door. It was open just a crack, and she could see her bed, still made up with the pink and purple patchwork quilt that her grandmother had made for her all those years ago. Pressing the door open, she revealed a time capsule of her young life, preserved over time and her parent’s belief that you could always come home.
She hadn’t been back to the house in years, finding her work took her to the far ends of the earth. Instead of coming back to the middle of Nebraska, instead choosing to use her mileage points to fly her mom to wherever Mariella wanted to go. Sinking onto her twin bed, consumed with grief, she realized she’d never asked her mom where she’d like to go, instead always dictating their relationship. It was always on her terms and now that her mother was gone, she’d never have the chance to ask.
Brushing away her tears, she spotted her favorite stuffed bear, Mortimer sitting on top of a book she’d never seen before. The bear coughed up a plume of dust when she’d picked it up to read the title of the intricately designed cover.
It wasn’t until she flipped the book open to reveal it was a book at all, but a photo album meticulously put together. Fingering the edges with reverence, Mariella saw her life from the perspective of a mother who wasn’t the best at expressing her love with words but used the lens of a camera to capture it instead. She sat in awe long after reviewing the album’s contents, stuck on the last photo with a note written in her mom’s delicate script.
The photo was of Mariella as a child, probably no more than six, pretending to teach Mortimer how to read. The note simply stated:
This is how I’ll always see you, my dear sweet child. The lover of learning, the caretaker of the disenfranchised with a heart as big as her mind. I’m so proud of you and the work you do with Care International. I hope these memories keep you grounded in what is good no matter what hurdles the world sends your way.
I love you now and always,