| My mother was a great one for writing notes. From the time I learned to read, she would tuck one in my lunch box or poke one under my pillow. Mama and I were alone for a few years after my father died and before she married Daddy Ed. There weren't many single parents in those days and she must have had a tough time, but she never complained. She and my stepfather had one daughter, my sister, Althea. Everyone always said Althea was the pretty one; I was the smart one, or sometimes, the nice one, if Mama wasn't listening. Maybe Mama wrote notes to Althea, but I'm not really sure. Her notes to me continued all through high school and on through college. I didn't have the sense to start saving them until after I was married and had daughters of my own. Mama would tell me the news of the family, often starting out, “Now here's something you didn't know...” and she always ended, “Please excuse the handwriting.” After I was married and moved out of state the letters came every week. Mama never did like the telephone. She would tell me news of Daddy Ed, whom she always called the nicest man in the world and, of course, all about Althea's doings. “Your sister was here,” she'd write, "just a short visit with her new beau. She borrowed those diamond studs Daddy gave me for our anniversary. Well, you know I'll never see them again.” Althea had a succession of boyfriends and then a series of husbands. It must have been hard for Mama as a good Christian woman. I never cared much about the things Althea weaseled out of Mama, the jewelry or the money. The only thing Mama had that I loved and coveted was a small gold locket that Daddy Ed gave her the day Althea was born. Mama wore it on a short gold chain and never took it off. I knew she would leave it to Althea. After Daddy Ed died, Mama was pretty lost. We invited her to live with us and she stayed happily for ten years. We didn't see much of Althea but she would breeze in now and then. Finally, Mama needed more care then I could give her. It broke my heart to put her in the nursing home, but she went cheerfully enough. Mama made a good adjustment to the home and the folks there loved her. The notes started again. “Please excuse the writing, but here's something you didn't know...” The night Mama died in her sleep, her favorite nurse called. “Don't hurry,” she said, “morning will do fine. I'll just pack up her things and have them ready for you.” But of course I couldn't sleep, so I drove to the home and met a teary nurse in the hall outside of Mama's room. “She left a note for you. She must have sensed something, because she had it all ready for me when I came on duty.” She handed me an envelope and a package wrapped in white tissue. I sat in the hall and opened the package first. It contained Mama's Bible, the cover worn from years of constant use. I rubbed my hand over the soft leather, remembering the many times Mama had read her favorite passages to me. I picked up the envelope and emptied its contents into my lap. The small gold locket shone against the dark fabric of my skirt. With shaking hands, I opened the note. “My dear Emily, As you know, the locket is for Althea. Your Daddy
Ed gave it me the day she was born. But now here's something
you didn't know, your own daddy gave me my Bible the day we
married. I never talked much about him, because I never wanted
to hurt Ed's feelings, since he was the kindest man I ever knew,
but your daddy was the love of my life and so were you. Please
keep my Bible, it was my best thing. Excuse the handwriting.Love,
Mama" |
ABOUT THE AUTHOR Joan Cody lives in Hudson, Massachusetts. She is a senior citizen who enjoys her many children and grandchildren. She has published a romance novel and has a mystery in the works. She states, “Writing has been my avocation since I was a child and I derive much pleasure from it.” |
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FICTION PRESENTED AS PERSONAL NARRATIVE “Excuse the Handwriting” was entered in our competition under the Christian Fiction category, yet it reads like a personal essay. This format can make a fictional story seem more realistic. However, when an author uses this technique, she runs the risk of using so much narrative that the story loses impact. One way that this author avoided that potential problem was by using strong active verbs in her narrative. Her mother would “tuck” or “poke under my pillow” the notes that become the basis of the dialogue between the protagonist and her mother. Another way in which she enlivened this reminiscence was the use of distinct descriptions and situations that ring with familiarity for readers. The fact that the protagonist didn’t “have the sense” to save her mother’s notes until she was an adult will recall to most readers similar sentimental items viewed as unimportant in their own childhood. The protagonist’s longing for the golden locket is, too, reminiscent of longings that readers can probably recall in their own lives. This ring of familiarity makes the ending all the more memorable. Thanks, Joan, for this lovely reminder that the things of true value in our lives are items that touch the heart rather than items made of gold. |
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"Ms Cody brought tears to my eyes with her story. I strongly identify with loving and yet not fully understanding my mother. Thank you for the insight." --Kim Altemeyer  Writers love feedback! Click the mail box to send us an email with your comments about this story and we will gladly forward them to the author. |