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I’ve debated off and on what my come back post, so to speak, should be about. I wondered if I should pour out my heart or play it light. I wondered if I should pretend the past few months had been a long vacation and just click right back into the status quo. My heart won’t let me take the easy route and allow my online persona to become someone that I’m not in real life. I have to somehow be true to my real life and maintain the integrity of this site. It’s a site about writing and reading and romance. It’s not a site about my personal struggles.

But, dear reader, it would seem that us writers are always encouraged to write from our hearts. I’ve heard the expression “write the book of your heart” so many times it reminds me of an echo-each time it sounds again it gets duller and duller, carries less and less impact and eventually fades away completely. But it might just be true. Now, I’m certainly not going to turn this blog into a book but I might be able to make a book into a blog. (Huh? Yeah, I seem to confuse myself most with the things I write...)

Now, where to begin? Oh, prologue! Yes, a prologue slows the pace and I may have skipped reading one…like once! Or twice…*shifty eyes* Yes, prologues are pretty much all telling and I hate being told things excessively but sometimes I break my own rules.

I first should mention that I look to the side of Write Chic’s toolbar(Look!--->) and I see three names written under the “contributors“ section. Mary and Stephanie are accompanied by some Kelly Krysten person. Who is this elusive Kelly? Most of you probably don’t know. She’s been on a hiatus of sorts, I suppose. But why is she still listed as a contributor? She doesn’t write blogs, she doesn’t even write period anymore. Well, for the new readers of Write Chic this would be the moment to unveil the mythical “Kelly’s” identity. I am Kelly Krysten. I am Kelly Krysten Bunkley and my mother died two months ago. Mom fought to the bitter end but there’s really no concrete way to defeat cancer. But I don’t want this blog to be about death. Mommy would not approve of that at all. Anything she was listed in would have to be raw in its honesty, open with its humor, and elegantly written. I can’t promise I’ll hit all three,or even one, but we’ll see.

I’m not going to break this up into a chapter list. This is a summation(I really like that word!). And though I said only prologues are for telling...well, I'm breaking another rule.

It all starts,this whole tale, with a girl. In our genre that’s who we’re encouraged to begin with. I mean, there are books upon books about the "hero’s journey" but without a great female presence I’m typically going to go MIA before the last page. I love men! Do NOT get me wrong. But I want a strong foil for him. And for me the greatest foil, or rather, the thread that most surely unravels the fabric of the hero’s existence, is a girl.

Now back to the girl herself. She’s as beautiful inside as she is without. But her exterior is probably admired more when she’s this age. She’s 15 and has had few boyfriends or even dates. Her hair is a sort of golden brown amalgamation, her form is willowy. Her eyes are large, innocent, and hazel. She is extremely shy but strong willed, extremely quiet-some think she’s a snob but she honestly thinks she’s too stupid to have anything worthy to add- but hilarious to those that take the time to get to know her. She’s convinced she’s ugly. She’s obviously wrong.

He’s eight years older and helplessly in love. She knew at age 8 that he was the one, he needed to see her grow up(this is why I love May/December romances so).

They marry(when she‘s older!), they remain crazy about each other their whole lives. Everyone comments that they never had a bad thing to say about each other, that they doted on each other, that they brought out the absolute best in each other. He told her she wasn’t stupid and enrolled her in college. She encouraged him, let him know he was the very best man she’d ever known and allowed him to feel the genuine confidence that a well loved man has, the one that swells their chests up with pride. [Side note: She attains one Masters degree, he attains two.]

They have three children. Two boys and a girl. [I would like to note that the girl was the most beautiful, intelligent, amazing baby in history…lol.]

Well our girl, who is now a woman, prays every night that she’ll live long enough for her children to be grown. It terrifies her, you see, to imagine what would happen to them if she weren’t there to nurture them. God answers her prayer.

And then when her babies are fully grown-her youngest was 24- she...

My mother(as you've guessed, she's mine) was getting in her car at Sears, she turned her foot awkwardly and it broke. Just like that my life changed forever. I didn’t know, you see, that a broken ankle could have many implications. My Mommy got sicker and sicker. There was dizziness and mild incoherence that came and went for weeks and then there were these nonstop headaches. One morning she hit our neighbor’s mailbox with her car. The next morning she went to the doctor and was sent immediately to the ER. They thought she was having a stroke. She wasn’t. She had a brain tumor. All I could do was lay on her chest and cry. I was so positive she would die and all I wanted was to lay beside her and go too. By that Friday she was having a biopsy. She’d been so optimistic, so certain she’d live. And when her surgeon walked in he said one sentence that I’ll never forget. I heard it with the crystal clarity of a song that’s lyrics won’t get out of your head. He said, “No one in the history of the world has survived this type of brain cancer.”

Mommy was a fighter but soon I felt her letting go. One night as I bathed her she cried and told me that she wished she could tell me she’d survive but she just didn’t know if it would be true anymore. There were never any lies between us. We held each other for a very long time after that.

As she slipped farther away she began to lose her ability to speak. But one night I asked her where home was and she pointed to me. This woman was my anchor and my life. She was the best thing about me. She believed in me when no one(other than Dad) would. She held me when I had bad dreams or was heartsick over some silly boy and throughout our whole lives together I told her everything. I never held back and she never judged me, just loved me. And I was losing her.

God answered that first prayer but for some reason it wasn’t His will to answer her follow up prayer. The one she whispered to me one night, “Dear God, please let me live longer. Please let me watch my children have more children, my daughter get married[...]And even if you allow me fifty more years with them, it would never be enough.”

As she faded more Dad would get out his book of hymns and sing to her each night. It was almost like a light switched on every time he sang. Her eyes would brighten and fix on him. Her husband of thirty five years, the man who gave her a card on their final anniversary together that read, “We will never have a last anniversary.” She’d always loved his singing voice so. And as he serenaded her to her end, as I listened, as I soaked in the power of their love that filled the room, I can’t say I had or will ever again hear a more beautiful sound.

When Mom couldn’t speak she still wanted Daddy to be assured of her love, she reached up one night and patted his chest exactly over his heart. Her final I love you to the love of her life.

And then she went. One day I said to my father, “It was too perfect, wasn’t it?” And he concurred. Nothing that perfect-a love and life so beautiful-could survive in a world so unworthy of the state.

And there it is. The encapsulated blog of my heart. I like to think Mom-always the first person I let read my work-would have liked this blog. I like to think she would’ve liked it very much.

I love you, Mommy. Thank you for everything. It was an honor and a privilege to be your daughter. I can't wait to see you again.