I've mentioned before that weekends are hard.
Friday and Saturday brought their share of good news, so I sailed through.
(Shameless self promotion): On Friday I received the contract for my next book, Paint Me a Puzzle, the third and final title in the Dressed for Death cozy mystery series. Yeah!
Then on Saturday, I finished the rough draft of Beacon of Love, a historical romance set during the "Great Gale of 1815" in Rhode Island. (They didn't call them hurricanes yet.) SUCH a relief.
But Mom did not feel well this morning; we arrived at Sunday school late and left before the worship service started. We are both missing the fellowship and the preaching of the Word. (Third week we've missed because Mom isn't doing well.)
And tonight, I am missing Jolene more than I have recently. Mom laid a pink doll blanket on the table. I held the soft cloth to my face and wanted to cry. Because, of course, it belonged to Jolene. It once wrapped a teensy baby doll that she laid in a equally small cradle. I want her back, I want her dressing her dolls, or saving them for her children, or even giving them away. I want more than something she once held.
I don't want her back. I wouldn't call her back from heaven. I want her never to have left.