Carol Ann Fallon
November 4, 1934 – June 2, 2012

I am an expert in grief. I’m not trained in therapy or theology. I have not attended seminars outlining the stages of mourning or lectures explaining the process of loss. I’ve written three eulogies. Scott, my first husband died in 2005 at the age of thirty-five. My father died in May of 2011; he was seventy-eight. Each loss has been a torture, each eulogy a brutal process.

When I lost my mom in June of 2012, I was certain my familiarity with grief would shore me up. I knew how to breathe through the panic. I knew how to distract myself from the ache. I knew which books to read when I couldn’t sleep and which music to play when I couldn’t think. I knew how to blink to dry up unexpected tears, and I knew how to sit still when the weight of loss bore down. I knew how to ride the wave of grief: how to hunker down, how to hold on. I knew all these things, and yet, this fresh new loss ripped me open every morning.

I phoned my mom almost every day. We often chatted about my three children, potty training and lost teeth, bruised knees and bruised feeling. Over the years, we talked about recipes and vacations, crazy neighbors and bills. We talked about broken cars, broken bones, broken marriages. We laughed a lot and sometimes I would call just to cry. To cry over the challenges life had thrown my way. And I felt better. I felt better just talking to my mom.

I recently had dinner with my neighbor, Katie. “I don’t know what to do with myself,” I said. “I pace the kitchen and stare at the phone. I keep waiting for her to call.”

“Why don’t you take the time you would normally call your mom and write in a journal?”

Hmmmm? That was something to think about.

A few days later, I met with a writer friend of mine. I repeated my dilemma to her.

“Start a blog,” Heidi said. “You should call it Stories for My Mom.”

. . . And so my blog is born. A place to hold my grief and my stories. A place to remember my mom. (and a place to thoroughly embarrass my children and my husband)


11 thoughts on “About

  1. Caryn says:

    What a great tribute to your mom and an acknowledgement of your grief to yourself. I can only imagine your warm and insightful and so often funny words will help others out there. So proud to call you “sister”. 🙂

    • Nonie Mazza says:

      What a great tribute to Carol. I so appreciate that Rosemary forwarded this on to me. Carol was a friend for over 50 years and was special in her own way. Keep this going.

  2. JennyRos says:

    Thanks for including me in this blog, Kate! I love your idea, and I love your first entry. It’s great that you are using this to get back to writing!

    I still have my mom with me, but I recently had a poignant reminder that these days are numbered. And, this truth seared my insides. It did not emerge because I received a call from her about her blood pressure or about her inability to our house for dinner because her eyesight prevented her from driving. It came during a morning walk by myself, far from home. Although I had traveled to Switzerland with my husband and daughters, I had broken from them after breakfast to take a long walk along Lake Geneva. The sun was shining, the mountains were towering, and a man with an accordion was sitting on a bench, playing soulfully. Suddenly and unexpectedly, I felt a strong ache for her and a huge wish that she were there walking with me. My mother has always been a Europhile; she loves the food, the long heated debates, and the diversity of that continent. Yet, she has traveled to Europe only once during her life. I felt sad because I realized that I have the ability to bring her back, but I havent yet. I wanted to give her that sunshine, that music, and the sounds of the multiple languages around me. This was a bittersweet feeling (to remind yourself that you love and need your mom). But, shortly after, I was hit with the counter-weight that the time to do that is NOW, because she is mortal, and neither of us knows when the window of opportunity will close.

    I wrote her an email that later that day and told her about my thoughts. She wrote me back “Yes, I want to go, with YOU!”. This is now a plan that is forming….I hope I can carry through with it.

  3. Gail M. Carroll says:

    Kate, this is such a sensitive, intelligent way to continue your conversations with your mother while sharing with all of us “your ups, your downs, your smiles, your frowns.” We look forward to each entry. Bruce and Gail

  4. letkindshine says:

    Oh my gosh! I’m smiling and drying my eyes.
    This is awesome!! Looking forward to following you. BTW I’m finishing up the book
    you recommended. So funny we should discuss over drinks.

  5. Brenda says:

    Beautiful, Kate. I will never forget Scott’s heartwarming eulogy. You are a talented speaker, writer, woman. Congratulations on finding a creative outlet for your grief. Best wishes.

  6. lisaabraham77 says:

    I am so glad you included me on the email about your blog. I have read every last story and cried and laughed at the same time. God Bless You Kate! Your words bring the stories alive and leave us all thankful for every moment in our lives.

  7. Anne taylor says:

    Love this Katie!
    Thinking what your mom’s reaction would be knowing there is a blog dedicated her makes me smile…….

  8. I love that you have created this blog in honor of your Mom. “Those we love don’t go away, they walk beside us every day, unseen, unheard, but always near, still loved, still missed and very dear.”

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