By Danielle Warren with her permission to repost this message. Moms who’ve lost a child don’t get to have new memories of that child. The existing ones are all we have but we don’t know all of them and always open to hearing a story about our child who died.
Wow. I did it. First draft. By no means done but for the most part I had a working draft! Once I got started, I just went with it. Now the part where I need to market it to publishers. But first figure out which ones I might like to work with.
The book is co-written by my late son, Charles
When I suffered a devastating loss, my perspective changed. The first time I laughed, a part of me felt guilty and I had to fight to remind myself that Charles would want me to have fun. And I know he would want me to follow my heart and my passion.
Instead of feeling guilty for my about face,
This is not Charles.
It was taken about a year ago by a friend who I met at this restaurant. I am sitting at a table and I see this kid. The shock of a Charles look-alike made my heart skip a beat. I froze. I knew it would happen eventually. Charles even owned a pair of shorts just like those.
This t-shirt was blessed by West African flamingos which almost makes them the new super food. They not only prevent the flu, just wearing one inspires dramatic
I’m not sure why Charles’ hair has been on my mind so much lately. But it was his signature feature other than his thinness. So Charles starts off in life with the baby brown hair. Always the gorgeous brown eyes.
As a 2-year-old, Charles had shock straight white-blonde hair. It was
It’s nonfiction, memoir style I guess. I’ve never done this. I’ve written ebooks for marketing–about 30 pages or so. At first it was so daunting but then, fortunately, an acquaintance of mine connected me with a writer named Susan, in Maine with whom I meet by phone.
I’ve been writing a book and Charles will be my co-author since I will be publishing some of his lyrics–ones published and some not published. The point will be to show you inside the mind of someone who suffered from addiction,
I birthed him, raised him, loved him. But I always had this feeling that he didn’t belong to me.
I remember when we sat with the minister to plan Charles’ memorial service, and he said, “Our children don’t really belong to us. They pass through us, are part of our families but
He owned an audience. Held it in his hands. He may have suffered anxiety but he was never anxious on stage. Ever. He connected with an audience and you knew he had something the moment he walked on stage.
During the play Hairspray, he apparently hid in the dumpster on stage. Naked. Everyone