A Brief Musing for Mid-July 2025

Afternoon, Tuesday, July 15, 2025, Miami, Florida

Mid- to late July is never my favorite time of year. There are plenty of reasons. Unless I’ve managed to escape Florida—most recently for a ten-month stint in New Hampshire—the weather is either relentlessly hot, perpetually rainy, or, more often than not, both. The result is that I retreat indoors more than I should, deprived of fresh air, sunlight, and the modest joys of a good walk.

But the weight of this season goes beyond the weather. If you know my story, you’ll remember that this is “Anniversary Week,” the shadowed span marking my mother’s final days. From July 12 to 19, 2015, life was a swirl of stress, anger, and grief. Time, people say, heals all wounds, but I find myself siding with Jim Garraty: that phrase rings hollow. The years may dull the pain and smooth the jagged edges of memory, but some aches never truly vanish.

That’s part of why I’ve been posting so much about writing and storytelling lately. With two new books to share—a novel, Reunion: Coda, and its companion story, Comings and Goings: The Art of Being Seen—I’ve thrown myself into the work, even though the road to finding readers has been steeper than I hoped. Still, I want to highlight the positive, especially in a time fraught with uncertainty and old sorrows. Writing about my experiences and motivations feels like a more worthwhile use of my blog than simply venting, even when the urge is strong.

I intended to craft another “On Writing and Storytelling” post today, maybe riffing on a Goodreads “Ask the Author” prompt. But as the clock edges toward three in the afternoon, I find myself paralyzed by indecision. One question—What mystery in your own life could be a plot for a book?—danced at the edge of my thoughts. I have at least one answer, but the pull of 2015’s memories tugs at my composure. For now, I’ll set that aside.

All I can think, ten years on, is how much I miss my mom.