Inspiration
for a good story can come from anywhere.
Dreams.
Television.
Books.
Watching
children play.
An
argument with a spouse or friend.
All it
takes is observant eyes and an open mind for the ordinary, mundane things in
life to inspire what you write.
Finding
inspiration to carry on with living an ordinary, mundane life can be a bit
harder to find. For me, though, I don’t
have to look much further than my own home to find the perfect inspiration to
keep moving forward, no matter how ordinary, mundane, and even unfair my life
can be.
My
inspiration comes from my mother, Irma McFall.
My mom is
a wonderful woman. Sure, a lot of girls
say that about their mothers. Maybe I am
a little biased, but I think she is the most amazing woman ever to live.
I wouldn’t
have admitted that 20 years ago. As a
teen, the last thing I wanted anyone to know about me was my admiration for my
mother. I would have been mortified for
anyone to know that I wanted to grow up to be just like her. But it was always there, in the back of my
mind.
Whether I
showed it or not.
 |
| Lynn and Irma |
When I was
six, I came close to losing her. Mom was
diagnosed with a cancerous tumor in her left hip. She was 34 years old and had six daughters,
ranging in age from 16 down to 3.
Imagine the fear that must have flowed through her when the doctors said
her cancer was often fatal and they held out little hope for her recovery. The doctors wanted to operate. But they told her there was a good chance
that she would not survive the surgery. If
she survived, she would lose her leg. If
she kept her leg, she would not be able to walk again. How easy it would have been to give up. The doctors didn’t hold out much hope, so why
should Mom have any hope?
Mainly
because her hope did not come from doctors.
Mom has always had a strong faith in God. She looked at her daughters and then looked
to her God. Death was not an
option. Confinement was not an
option. She was young and had too many
things that she wanted to do with her life, too many things she wanted to see
her daughters do. Mom didn’t heard what
the doctors said, but she didn’t put much stock in it. Her five foot, one inch body was filled with
a determination to live, to thrive, to beat the disease that wanted to bring
her down.
And she
did it. Last week, I sat beside her at
the kickoff rally for our local American Cancer Society Relay for Life. Thirty years cancer free. That is so inspiring to me. No matter what life throws at me—and trust
me, it has thrown me more than a few curveballs—I know that I can overcome
it. Nothing I have faced compares to
what Mom has. She has come out of it,
smiling and just as determined to enjoy life as she was 30 years ago.
My newest
novel Miracle Play deals with a 10-year-old boy who is battling
leukemia. I tried to capture just a
little of Mom’s strength and determination in that little boy. Not sure that I did a good job, though. I am not sure words could ever fully capture
Mom the way I’d like to.
To honor
her, I am donating a portion of the proceeds from Miracle Play to the
American Cancer Society. Mom has
celebrated 30 birthdays since her diagnosis. I want to help others to reach that same goal.
I love
you, Mom. I pray for at least 30 more
years to show you how much.
Guest post by Lynn McMonigal
