Grief and Gratitude

 

Unsplash

My mother passed away in late September—a heart-breaking loss for me and our family. My head knows no one lives forever, but my grief at the news was more than I was prepared for.

Unsplash

Through sobs, I asked if someone was with her when she drew her last breath, did someone hold her hand? Yes, my brother held her hand and my sister was on a video call when she passed. (Technical incompatibilities prevented me from being on the call.)

I’ve read that when one is close to death the veil between the living and those who have gone before is thin. Was my mother joyful at seeing her husband who had preceded her sixteen years earlier? I have hope but can never know. Never. 

This thought led to more “nevers”. I’ll never make and send her cards again. I’ll never have our weekly call again. I’ll never hear about her childhood again. These losses are so hard to bear.

Unsplash

Yet, as I grieved I had much to be grateful for. First and foremost, how wonderful my siblings, niece, and nephew are. From our mother’s final breath to the moment her soul soared free, they involved me every day in all aspects of her memorial. (Covid kept me from traveling.)

During my mother's visitation service my niece connected to me via

Unsplash

FaceTime. I met neighbors who had been so kind to my mother for many years. I made new friends with several people who attended her memorial and reconnected with distant relatives. I’m grateful to know my mother was loved and cared for by family and her community.

 

 

Through FaceTime I didn't miss a single sentence or scene during her final service. I miss you, Mom. And most of all, I'm so grateful for the ninety-one years we were blessed with your love.

Mom on her wedding day

 

 

Other Side of the Fence ~ by Amanda M. Thrasher

"Love and appreciate your parents. We are often so busy growing up, we forget they are also growing old." - WisdomLifeQuotes

Like millions of people, I find myself in a position I was dreading,

making decisions about my father's health I wish he could make for himself. I can't help but look at this incredible man who I've often thought as invincible and wonder how on earth did we get here?

My dad used to be a British Royal Marine and an Engineer. He was married to my mom for fifty years, and would have been married to her for life had she not passed. He's a fantastic dad, an amazing granddad, and an outstanding great-granddad. Until a year ago, he worked out daily, lived by himself for fifteen years, cooked for himself, cleaned his own house, grocery shopped, and even tended his yard. He's eighty-five!

His health had never been an issue; the man has never been sick a day in his life. I think, until recently, he could run circles around all of us. However, my husband and I thankfully had discussed the future and what it would look like if dad ever didn't want to live by himself anymore. It's a good job that we'd discussed it amongst ourselves because it wasn't long after that we received the phone call that brought my dad into our home. It was short, to the point, but I know my dad had put a lot of thought into his decision. Once he had made his decision, there was no turning back.

"Amanda, I've been thinking."

"Oh, yeah. What about?"

"I don't think I want to live by myself anymore."

Pause.

"Well, that's OK. I don't blame you. It must get lonely at times."

"It does."

"Do you have any idea where you might like to live?"

"Well, if it's OK with you and Mike, and I'd like to move in with you."

And that was that; dad was living with us.

It was an adjustment for my two daughters, my husband, and my

self at first, having an extra person in the house, but I quickly realized the move was likely prompted by things my dad must have recognized about himself that were concerning him at home. For example, he would wash his hands and leave the water running, or grab something out of the fridge and leave the refrigerator door open. On occasion, he left the stove stop turned on after he'd cooked himself some breakfast. I found myself dashing around behind him to turn things off without necessarily alerting him to it, and then wondering if I should have brought these things to his attention or not. Not knowing what the right thing to do was; I didn't want to embarrass him, and yet I want him to be safe.

Working from home allows me to keep an eye on my dad, and I mean that in the kindest way, and it didn't take long before we all fell into our new-normal routines. Every morning dad shuffles into my office and tops of my coffee with a fresh steaming cup. I can't help but smile as his shaking hands pour the coffee, and though I've usually had more than I need, I'll drink another cup anyway — his beautiful way of nurturing me and taking care of me as I work.

Sticking to a schedule is part of his life, and moving into our home

didn't change that. Up at the crack of dawn, and even at his age, dad manages to squeeze in a workout. He'll often cook himself a couple of eggs, shower, and when lunchtime rolls around, he always asks if I'd like to eat whatever he's preparing for himself. His greatest joy is to sit out back while I work, soak in the sun, and breathe in the fresh air as the dogs all play around him. I have three fur-babies, and he brought his dog with him, so between the four dogs, the chasing and playing around him are nonstop, which makes for great entertainment for dog-lovers.

I must admit I wasn't sure how I would feel about having my dad present in my home twenty-four-seven, and love had nothing to do with it. Every writer has a process, and I am no different; my method includes writing in silence, and my dad is never quiet. His hearing failing him doesn't help, and the constant in and out with the dogs is another factor. Somehow we make it work; he doesn't get offended if I lock myself away in my office, and I don't get offended if he goes to his room to watch his shows. Over time we figured everything out until that is everything went haywire.

My dad took ill, was hospitalized for a while, and he went downhill fast. Too weak to stand, he needed physical therapy before he could come home. That changed things for everyone, especially my dad. Literally, in a blink of an eye, we went from keeping a loving-watchful eye on him as living companions to that of his caregivers as we assisted with the hospital to prepare him for rehabilitation so he could come home. He was a completely different person leaving the hospital than who was admitted. Lying in a bed for nearly two weeks, with short walks to his door, had weakened him in a way that we found hard to believe. He didn't even look like the same person. Compounded by a fall, two broken ribs, and two broken vertebrates, he couldn't even lift himself out of a chair to stand to his feet. Suddenly unable to walk unassisted, he was escorted everywhere for fear of another fall. He became agitated, rightfully so, and refused to eat due to the pain caused by his fractured ribs. As I watched him fade away before me, dropping pounds he didn't have on reserve to lose, his refusal to eat caused a battle of wills between us.

I have no training in nursing or caring for the elderly. I'm my dad's daughter, and I love him, but I have no idea if I was helping or hindering at this point. Dad seemed to understand he was going to a nursing home for physical therapy rehabilitation, and once he was strong enough, he was coming home. But he also needed to understand that he had to do his part, which included eating, walking despite the pain, and mentally wanting to get better.

"You have to eat to gain your strength back."

I felt as if I was continually pleading with him.

"I'm not hungry."

"It doesn't matter. You need to eat."

"I don't like it."

"What would you like?"

"Nothing."

"You have to eat something, anything, but you do have to eat something."

"I'm not eating it."

"Do you want to come home?"

"Yes!"

"You can't come home if you're not strong enough; you can't get strong if you don't eat."

I had been told that taking care of an older person was like having another child in the house, but surely that applied to everyone else's parent except for mine, right? Now I found that rang true. My dad, whom I adore, seemed childlike and defiant at times.

"You're not my mom," he snapped, as I insisted he try to eat some of his food after he'd refused his last several meals. I had to laugh. It's one thing to be told you're acting like your mother; it's quite another to have someone tell you your acting like your grandmother.

"You're losing too much weight, dad," I explained. "If you don't want to eat, will you drink this shake?" I held up a meal replacement, vanilla Ensure.

His steel-blue eyes looked at me as if he'd never seen me before, it was just for a split second, and then thankfully it passed. Against his will, he drank the shake.

I feel blessed that my children, and my grandchildren, have grown

up with my dad in their lives. My goal now is to have home sooner than later where he belongs, and I am confident that despite my father feeling helpless and frustrated, he will be able to come home quickly. Being on this side of the fence, as a caregiver to a parent, I am reminded how lucky I am to have this extra time with a man I admire so much. I try not to think about what will happen the day he will no longer be in our home, how empty our lives will be. But for now, I want to savor every second that I possibly can with him. I want to listen to every story that I've heard a million times; only this time, I will not get up and throw in a load of laundry, make a bed, or write a chapter. I'll wait until he says, "I think I'll take a nap now, Amanda. Is that OK?"
                                        Copyright © 2020 Amanda M. Thrasher
 
Amanda M. Thrasher was born in England, moved to Texas and

Amanda M. Thrasher

resides there still. She’s the award-winning author of YA, General Fiction, MG, Early Reader Chapter, and Picture books. Amanda is a multiple Gold Recipient of The Mom’s Choice Awards® (MCA), earning the award in multiple categories including YA, General Fiction, and Early Reader Chapter Books. She is a two-time Gold Medal winner of the Readers’ Favorite International Book awards, a New Apple Literary Award winner, and an NTBF award winner. Amanda continues to write, speak, and conducts workshops for all ages.

Amanda was contracted to write a graphic novel for the Driving on the Right Side of the Road Program. The publication is part of the Driving on the Right Side of the Road (DRSR) program, developed by the Law-Related Education Department of the State Bar of Texas Law Focused Education, Inc., and the Texas Municipal Courts Education Center with funding from the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals and the Texas Department of Transportation. The purpose of the program is to offer a preventive educational program to encourage responsible decision-making when it comes to obeying traffic laws and to following safe practices.

The graphic novel titled What If … A Story of Shattered Lives was adapted into a reader’s theater for as few as five speakers or as many as twenty-six and remains part of the DRSR program.

CAPTAIN FIN was based on a screenplay by Kevin James O’Neill.

Amanda was contracted to adapt the screenplay into a novel for Kevin. Kevin is a director, actor, and producer. CAPTAIN FIN, the novel, won a Readers’ Favorite International Gold Book Award and was the Gold Recipient of The Mom’s Choice Awards®.

As the Chief Executive Officer at Progressive Rising Phoenix Press, in addition to her regular duties, she assists authors with their work and shares her writing and publishing experience with others through school visits, trade conferences, and writing workshops.

You can connect with Amanda at the links below. All photos are the property of Amanda M. Thrasher and may not be reproduced.

WEBSITE (personal)

WEBSITE (business)

AMAZON

Lessons I've Learned from Turkeys ~ Jacquolyn McMurray

Many folks think turkeys are stupid. And we've definitely observed some incidences of stupidity in the flock of turkeys that wander through our farm. More than one has drowned in the backyard reservoir by allegedly admiring his own reflection. At least that's hubby's theory.

Not to be a contrarian, but I think turkeys can teach us some valuable lessons about life. 

1) Find your happy place.

The wild turkeys that roam through our farm discovered the lanai of our wood shop. I know turkeys don't smile, per se, but they did seem especially content the day I took the photo.  They often stop and rest and just seem to soak up life.

I thought about places where I feel safe and happy and many locations came to mind.  Our farm is one of those places.  When I take a short view, I see a lot of work: mowing the yard, painting the lanai, and cleaning the chicken coop. But when I take a longer view and gaze toward the ocean, my perspective changes and I'm reminded to be thankful for what I have. 

I've learned my happy place doesn't need to be an actual place. It can be a state of mind like appreciating the opportunity to spend time with friends and family, to have a chunk of time to write, to chat with my kids and the grandboys.



2)  Stick together 

When turkeys sense danger--like an unleashed dog romping toward them--they run en masse.

We are not meant to be solitary beings. As much as I enjoy solitude, I love spending time with friends and family and sharing our ups and downs. As far back as I can remember I have relied on my family and friends in times of struggle. Likewise, when something amazing happens, I can't wait to share the news with those I love. 


3) Challenge yourself now and then. 

Okay, the gravel pile isn't a huge hill for a turkey to climb, but the idea is the same.  Wild turkeys, who rarely fly, can make it to a eucalyptus tree branch fifty feet in the air. 

If I do the same things all the time, I don't grow as a person. My goals for the year usually include taking some sort of coursework that will move me forward in my writing, sticking to some semblance of an exercise plan, and learning something new with technology. 

Challenge yourself. Drive a new route, learn a new skill, spread your wings and fly.

Photographs and Memories ~ by Grace Augustine

I didn’t have the luxury of knowing my father because he passed away when I was 9 yrs. old. Sure, I remember bits and pieces of him: the fragrant cherry tobacco from his pipe, the silk shirts, the wool pants, the Roi Tan cigars and using the cigar boxes for my crayons.

I’ve done search after search through most of the ancestry sites, trying to find out more about my heritage, mainly, my dad.

What I do know 
      • He stood 5’4” tall
      • He had tattoos on both arms, a dancing girl and something to do with the US Coast Guard.
      • He was born in Malalos, Philippine Islands in 1889 (yes that is not a typo)
      • He came to the US and lived with an uncle in California
      • Found his way to Port Angeles, WA and Victoria, British Columbia Canada
      • Served in the US Coast Guard as a cook on board the USS

McCullough
      • Was a cook at a local restaurant in Shelby, Montana
      • Married my mom in 1944
      • Died in February 1966
I also remember he loved eating fish and rice doused with soy sauce.

What I don’t know that I’d like to know: 
      • Was he compassionate?
      • Did he like children?
      • What did we do together when I was younger that brought him joy?
      • What wisdom would he give to my sons?
      • Would I have turned out differently if I’d had his teaching while growing up?
      • Would life have been different if I’d had both of my parents?
      • How would he have counseled me in various situations?
      • Was he a hugger?

So many questions that will never be answered. So many times I wish I’d had those opportunities to hold his hand, to walk with him, to go to different daddy/daughter things, to have a hug and hear I love you.

All I have are photographs and a few memories. 

Who's Your Daddy's Daddy's Daddy? ~ Lexa Fisher

Photo by Kiwihug on Unsplash

Genealogy began to interest me when I undertook to write stories, the first one being a family history mystery, as I call it. I can't pinpoint the reasons for my interest. Is it the thrill of research as I dig through census records and uncover family clues? Is it studying the family tree in a bible passed down for generations, wondering what those people behind the names were like? 

One thing I know for sure is that I'm keen to learn where my family came from and what their lives were like. Despite this interest, I was reluctant to ask personal questions about my ancestors, aware of uncomfortable postures and hesitancy in the answers I received. As a child I was too young to understand the nuances in feelings that shaped those answers. Memories of the past might have been painful to repeat, long buried for the angst they carried. 

I also understand that what someone does say is from their point of view, with their lapses in memory and biases as to what is important to them. Even so, this gives me great insight into who I am listening to. As a writer, it helps me develop characters who have depth.

One of my favorite weekend activities is finding estate sales, especially ones where there are traces of history throughout the house. My greatest find is a suede-covered high school memory book, My Golden School Days, from 1916. The young woman's past is helping me create a story for the family history mystery that I'm currently writing.

Photo by Paul Wong on Unsplash

To learn more about my own heritage, last year I opted for DNA testing, eager to find out where my maternal lineage had originated. I'd long been told that I had a Cherokee chief in the family tree on my mother's side. Imagine the disappointment and questions that arose when I found I was entirely European! My Cherokee ancestry drifted away like a smoke signal on a blustery day.

Photo by Andreea Popa on Unsplash

Continuing my search, I delved into census records at ancestry sites and discovered wonderful information about my paternal grandfather's family. Answers led to more questions and piqued my interest further. How to explain my grandfather's sister who was twenty years older than he was? Surely this had to be a second marriage. I remember this woman, my great-aunt Dora. We share a medical condition that makes me long to know her now. But the only clues I've found are through census records and her tombstone.

After the DNA testing, I chose to be contacted by anyone whose DNA indicated a relationship. One day I received email from a woman claiming to be a cousin who wanted to meet my mother--her mother's sister.

What? My mother had never mentioned a sister, so I hesitated to provide any contact information until I'd confirmed this. To my complete and great surprise, I learned that my mother has five half-sisters! Never in sixty years had this come up. 

I'm now on the trail of my mother's ancestors. These real life discoveries are just the stories I love to read and write. Bits of my own ancestors' lives will add dimension to my stories. And like a Cherokee scout, I may one day find charred stones from a smoke signal fire.

Quality Time ~ by Lesley Bimonte Verbus

I threw my hat into the ring for a seat on our local City Council a few months ago. I thought long and hard about if I had any hours left in the day to do so - but I did it anyway. I didn’t get the appointment and that was probably a blessing. At least I can still fit in a few Board and Commission meetings from time to time. I do love watching my city grow and operate. 

I am writing this post while I am sitting on an airplane flying from Columbus to Baltimore. While I’m sitting here, I am hoping I have better luck than my husband, Scott, did just last week when Southwest decided to give his luggage an extra five day vacation before returning home. This flight today is for a four day business conference for my day job as a Business Analyst for a health care service company. However, before hopping on this plane, I dropped off two weeks worth of work to our CPA in order to file our tax return for the IT company that Scott and I own.

Mild mannered Business Analyst by day - Superwoman Business Owner by night!

Okay, by early evening…this Superwoman has a 10:00 bedtime.

I definitely cannot and will not take even a fraction of the credit for Linear IT Solutions. Scott busts his hump day in and day out (and many nights, too) to keep our company in the spotlight. My job is to keep the employees, vendors, and Uncle Sam paid. Sometimes, Scott will use me as a pretty face at Networking events because there’s no denying that still has an appeal to many businessmen. Last Friday, during the lunch hour, we ran over to the bank to take care of some business for Linear. Knowing that there was more to discuss, we scheduled me to come back in on Saturday. 

“What time would you like to come in tomorrow?  I don’t want you to get up early on your day off.” I laughed at the well-meaning banker and replied, “What’s a day off?” I spent two more hours there on Saturday morning.

      When I arrive back home at the end of this week, I will catch up on my day job (and all the new projects that will inevitably result from this conference), follow up with my CPA, follow up with the bank, and then turn my Susie-homemaker hat on. You see, I am also the Treasurer for my stepson’s Cub Scout pack and we have a Committee Meeting on Sunday. Bank ledgers, expense reports, and Scout accounts, oh my! Fortunately, the year is winding down (only three months left) so all we really have left are a couple Spring events.

      Ah yes, Spring events. Coming soon to a field near you is another season of flag football - because Sundays aren’t busy enough! An hour of practice and an hour of games (unless it is a double header that day). This all happens after a Church filled morning of Mass and Sunday School. I teach 2nd grade Parish School of Religion (PSR). My kids are only six weeks away from their First Communion so we’re working feverishly toward that. Next weekend, my teaching partner will be out of town so I will have all 23 of those angels to myself.

Whatever time that is left on Sundays goes towards weekly food prep. Long ago are the days of Scott and I stepping on bodybuilding stages, but the lifestyle never really goes away.  Two to three hours and we have our meals for the week done and in the fridge for our family of three. Except dinners; I make dinner fresh every night.  

     The time and money spent by food prepping is astonishing. I highly suggest it. In another attempt to streamline our home life, I have made a tidying goal for 2019. While I haven’t gone full Marie Kondo yet, I have been trying to de-clutter...one corner of the house at a time. I’ve already made two trips to the consignment shop and a trip to Amvets. I also found a couple nice websites for re-selling old textbooks and leisure books (SellBackYourBook.com and TextbookRush.com). In one evening of scanning ISBN bar codes, I racked up over $150 in rainy day cash. Scott unloaded some old gym equipment and an old motor and parts to a metal scrapper last weekend and we have some exciting plans to empty out the garage this Spring.  

     What is my reason for the whole house clean out? Well, my number one reason is so when we move to North Carolina in 2028 (yeah I know that’s nine years away, but there’s a good chance this will take until then) I don’t have to move anything that isn’t absolutely necessary. Plus, the less stuff in the house, the less there is to clean, right?

      I just took a break here to go hit the fitness center after checking into my hotel, and shortly I’m going to head down to the lobby to meet my day job team for dinner. Tomorrow will start a few days of all day meetings and business cases. When I get back to my hotel room I have some payroll and financial analysis to do for Linear. My schedule is crazy, but I still try to get to the gym three to four days a week (five on a good week!) 

    In a couple weekends, Scott and I are heading to Indiana for Scott to shoot in the All the Write Curves photo-shoot coupled with a couple custom shoots.  We decided to stay in Indiana for a night just to hit the town and take in the evening together.  

     You see, between the day job, the business, Cub Scouts, church, city operations, gym time, athletics, modeling, and whatever our son’s extracurricular activity du jour is, I am still a wife - a completely enamored wife who is crazy about her husband. 

You know that dinner I said I make each night? We sit down, together, and eat dinner. We always sit down, if even just for an hour, each night just to connect.  Every marriage needs that time to reconnect. Scott and I both work from home and we spend literally our whole day together. But spending time together isn’t enough - it has to be quality time.  Life is crazy, life is busy, but no matter how fast the world keeps spinning, we have to make time for those relationships that make us whole. I wouldn’t trade 9:00 - 10:00 PM each night for anything.

Lesley Bimonte Verbus is a well-known bodybuilder and model. Her husband is internationally known cover model, Scott Nova. They reside in Ohio.

The Legacy ~ by Linda Boulanger

       

 I was struck by something Lori Roberts said in her post, Plugging Along. She mentioned that beyond just writing because she had characters who wanted their stories told, she also wrote her stories as gifts to her grandchildren… She wanted to leave them a legacy, so to speak.

The use of the term legacy was my word, not Lori’s. It kept popping into my mind, so I looked up the definition. As so often happens, I found one that fit what I was looking for: something handed down from one generation to the next. Lori wanted to leave her legacy in the form of her stories. She wanted her books to be there as her contribution to the world… and more precisely, to her grandchildren. We just get to share them.

I suppose the books I have written and the covers I have designed are a part of my legacy. They are one of my marks on the world, something I am proud to have accomplished and happy to share. It made me think of one of the families in an upcoming series I’m working on and the legacy they shared. I pictured a Christmas Eve with this Medieval family of dragon shifters gathered in the solar of their castle, sharing a tradition steeped in legacy…

"Christiev DuBois folded his tall form into a sitting position in front of the sofa in his family's solar and waited for his grandchildren to arrange themselves around him. This was the only way they could all see the pages of the book he laid on the floor before him. Tracing his fingers over the dragon etched into the wood panel on the front, he opened it up and began to read the words written by his wife, explaining the dragon carving on the front. 

The children listened in awe, especially when he closed the book again and allowed each of them to run their hands over the ancient dragon form. He smiled at their oohs and aahs as their little fingers bumped over the ridges making up the scales and wings. He hadn't been much older than them when he'd first seen this carving. He was pleased Ashlynn had found a way to use the piece in this book—this treasure she’d filled with legacies left by past DuBois generations. They were all pieces that might have been lost forever had she not salvaged them from the old castle his father had abandoned after his mother had died there.

His mother’s death and the years that followed were not a time he wanted to remember. It was a dark time, with too much sorrow and anger, his father taking that out on anyone or anything he came in  contact with—including him. 

The older dragon shifter had practically destroyed the old castle, building this one where Christiev and his family now lived, only after his aunt had stepped in and threatened to have her brother declared mad if he didn’t at least provide a decent home for his son.

By that point, it had almost been too late for Christiev. He’d been following in his father’s footsteps far too long, hatred and anger building, spurring him to where he, too, acted more like the hated Driagaran instead of a protector. He’d forgotten that most important part of being a Druajen—the side of the dragonkind that were sworn to protect the world against the dragon shifters that believed they had the right to take over and rule the humans. Driagaran dragons had forgotten they were part human. Druajen had not… though his father had, for a time, acted like he had forgotten, with Christiev doing his bidding.

He glanced at his wife while the children continued to look at and talk about the dragon carving, each speculating whether they would, someday, have wings and the feather-like scales of the Druajens. 

Ashlynn smiled at him and his heart melted, just as it had the first time he’d seen her buried within the rubble of a wrecked carriage. His heartbeat finding hers had been the only way he’d known there were any survivors, though it would be nearly a decade longer before she would be his. Those were years of change and reformation that hadn’t truly taken hold until after she and their son had come to live with him and his father at Castle Esperanza.

It had taken many visits to the abandoned castle for Ashlynn to unearth all the treasures she’d combined into this book she’d made. Originally, she’d done it as a gift to his father, no one quite sure how Kristoff would react. 

By that time, the old man had taken to spending most of his time in the few rooms he’d designated as his alone in the family wing of the castle. The only thing that seemed to give him joy was his grandson, Christof, though when Ashlynn had presented him with this book, he’d wept openly, his fingers caressing the carving much as the children’s were. 

He’d thumbed through it, lingering on each piece of work left by one ancestor or another chronicling the lives of the Druajens as a whole. Together, he and Ashlynn had added in the words that explained the pieces. It was a glorious memento—a book of legacy, as well as one of healing for his father.

In the days that followed, Kristoff had been more alive, more the gentle man he’d been during the time he’d been married to Hope. He’d wanted to make peace with the people who lived in his land and had begun to do so with the help of his son and grandchildren, though most days he could be found sitting in front of the fire in his quarters, the book Ashlynn had made for him opened to an image of a dragon with icy blue wings made of feathers. 

It had been painted by Christiev’s mother, who had then painstakingly cut a feather from an ice bird and meticulously placed the pieces to create an image of a magnificent feathered ice dragon. It was how she saw his father whenever he shifted. It was glorious, and another favorite of his grandchildren. He knew they would squeal with glee when they finally got to that page.

Christiev’s heart was so full as he sat amidst his grandchildren that Christmas Eve on the floor of the family solar in Esperanza Castle teaching them of their heritage and sharing with them the history of his family through this beautiful legacy—an heirloom, created with love, to be passed down from generation to generation for all eternity."

I hope you’ve enjoyed this little peek into the DuBois family. I am currently working on the books for this series, however, I introduce the Druajen dragons in both A Leap of Faith (historical time travel romance) and Stirring Up Some Love (contemporary fantasy romance). You may find out more about my books by visiting the links on my  page, and, as always, your comments here are most welcome. I would LOVE to hear about your family’s legacy or legacies. What mark do you intend to leave for future generations?