Something Good from Something So Heartbreaking

My last blog post, titled Life as We Know It Can Change in an Instant, was written from my heart in response to the death of a beautiful young woman.

I wrote the blog in response to a tragic event; I shared it as an opportunity to appreciate life and to honor the life of a young woman who brought so much joy to the lives of everyone she knew.

Life as We Know It Can Change in an Instant has already been shared more than 8,600 times; I am so honored that my words resonated with so many people. An editor at the Huffington Post saw it and invited me to share it there. Here’s the link: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/candace-johnson/living-in-the-moment_b_7754246.html

This is a wonderful opportunity for me as a writer, and I’d like to invite you to read and share this article with your own network. And if you’re so inclined, I’d be grateful if you’d become my “fan” on Huffington Post by clicking the link “Become a Fan.” After doing so, you will automatically get an email letting you know when I’ve published something.

Thank you again for your support; I’m grateful.

 

Candace Johnson is a professional freelance editor, proofreader, writer, ghostwriter, and writing coach who has worked with traditional publishers, self-published authors, and independent book packagers on nonfiction subjects ranging from memoirs to alternative medical treatments to self-help and on fiction ranging from romance to paranormal. As an editorial specialist, Candace is passionate about offering her clients the opportunity to take their work to the next level. She believes in maintaining an author’s unique voice while helping him or her create and polish every sentence to make it the best it can be. Learn more here.

My Mother’s Hands

mother's deathWhen I was a little girl, I loved playing with my mother’s rings. I would beg her to take them off so I could place them on my stubby fingers and imagine what my own bejeweled hands would look like someday.

I remember the first time I noticed how different her hands were from mine. No longer smooth and vein-free, the skin of my mother’s hands contrasted starkly with the smooth, barely-lived-in skin that covered my own.

“Look how old your hands are compared to mine!” I announced triumphantly, as though I’d discovered some previously unknown fact of human existence. And then, just to throw a bit of salt on the wound, I mused, “I wonder if my hands will look like yours when I’m old.”

Years later that conversation was repeated, only this time I was the mother, and my own daughter was announcing her own revelation. Continue reading “My Mother’s Hands”