“I saw God in my child’s eyes”


“I saw God in my child’s eyes” Momma proudly forenamed her novel as she stood in front of our class. She turned to my chair, which I hunker seated next to her chair in class. She added in a whisper, “It was you…It was your eye’s, I saw God.”
What a beautiful title, I thought to myself.
Unlike my mother, I struggled coming up with good ideas. I was only taking the class so she could fulfill her dreams, besides I got to spend time with her. My mother was always very creative, ideas and imagination wasn’t something she delivered on occasion; inspiring words lived as a part of her being. I also was shy and unable to voice myself like she could.
At the time I didn’t understand what her seeing god in my eyes meant, except maybe the fact I talked her into doing the book writing class together. Writing a book continued as her lifelong dream. Even as she lived approaching her 70’s. She wrote for our local newspaper for years on a rusty old type writer and never followed through with her dream.

We were writing, spending time together, along with bonding as mother and daughter. At the time, I had no idea I would possess four published novels, two anthologies, a screenplay and many short stories five years later, and succumb to not having my Momma. I sat slouching that day next to her standing proud, about to embark on my own connection to something divine.
I began to write and Momma became my biggest fan. She was writing as well and writing a lot. She wrote short stories about her grandchildren and a children’s book about my youngest son who suffered from a hearing loss. All hand written. She even submitted short stories to a few magazines. Not sure if she ever wrote her original book title she announced to the class. What I do know is, her dream of writing a book was happening, but she insisted I continue to become published.
Five years later…
After hours of holding Momma’s hand and playing her favorite song, Earth Angel. My heart felt deflated, I couldn’t control the pain or the process, and I knew it. Doctors were no longer giving us hope, only decisions. “Go be with God Momma… Go be with God…” I sobbed uncontrollable and gently kissed her forehead as her beautiful baby blue eyes stared at me. If you could only see how blue her eyes were that evening. I quietly left the room.
Something followed me that night. As I proceeded out the exit of the hospital, it was late and dark. Silence of the February air stalled as the automatic doors to the hospital opened. I couldn’t quite grasp what I was feeling. With each step, I knew it was the end, the end of her earthly story. I had cried so much that week, and many weeks prior. I couldn’t cry, she wouldn’t want that. I kept coaching myself to be strong with each step I took. Car alarm sounded as I passed it but no one was around. I continued walking to the back of the unlit parking area where I had parked earlier that evening. Another car beeped as I passed, this time I glance over my shoulder to see if someone was walking behind me. There was no one there. I peek inside the car that had beeped as I passed, to see if someone was in it. The car sat empty. I finally get to my car and get in, surely I could look around the parking lot again to see if anyone was around, and not look like a paranoid female. I quickly locked my doors. My windows in my car were tinted, perfect for me to see out and no one to see in. The parking lot remained empty of people, it was late.
At the time, I believe I was kind of thankful my imagination or paranoia took my mind off of my dying Mother, if even for a few minutes. Until the next morning when I returned to the hospital.
As I walked in her room, I go to her bed, she looked as though she was sleeping tranquilly. Her eyes were closed and the ventilator pumped air. No other sounds. I gently placed my lips to her forehead stalling for just a moment.
“Something happened after you left last night.” My sister peacefully disclosed. “She hasn’t woken since. They don’t even think she will make it through the day.” My siblings never left her side and we made sure our sick father came to say his farewell. Momma’s eyes never opened again and she passed four days later. I was the last child of my Momma’s four children she saw before she left to be with God.
I never said goodbye; I wasn’t saying goodbye. She wasn’t leaving me, she was only moving to a different state of being. Was I in denial? My heart wasn’t going to let her go, that I did know. I knew it was only her body I would never see again. Was I just trying to convince myself? The guilt still consumed me, but I stood my ground. I refused to cling to a goodbye. I wasn’t accepting her death as the end, but a new beginning. It would be through words, words she had written would keep her alive, at least to me. Writing was a spiritual, soulful quest for us. We both had a belief that writing connected us to God.
I took for granted that night in the parking lot. Probably due to focusing too much on the new beginning I was about to engage in and not embracing the miracle that followed me. My mother is with me, in our own special way, just as she is, as well, with my siblings. She sends me signs through writing. I know what you thinking, it’s just coincidences. I can’t say that hasn’t crossed my mind as well.
After my mother passed, I ask if I could have her writings. My older sister ran across a few of her writings as she was going through some important paperwork and files with my father. She sent me through her phone, a picture of the one particular writing. A piece of writing that only I knew something about. A piece of writing, I needed the most.
At that very moment I saw the picture, I knew, without a doubt that she was not gone. She was on a new adventure of writing. Beginning a new story, a heavenly writing journey. I believe writing inspiration comes to us in its own time, and it can’t be forced…
This piece of paper confirmed my theory.
The picture showed, a piece of notebook paper with my Momma’s handwriting, “I saw God in my child’s eyes” scrolled across the page and nothing else was written on it. An unwritten story with divine inspiration. My mother had only written a title to the book she was planning to write. -Blissful writings Momma!



Thanksgiving Day


Poetry in Black and White

Thanksgiving Day

Crimson emotion flows your heart’s stormy seas
Tears blush torment across your windshield of life
Forgotten dreams… worse, the one’s remembered
All splayed before inner eyes which hold back remorse

All the deeds done and gone
Aspirations litter your familiar walkways
Yet, the actions not taken and the steps withheld
Haunt and gnaw as though their lives fell meaningless to time

Cherish those heartbeats, weak and weary
Fallen but breathing time in your mind
Some, far too late for finding fruition
Others, not waiting, stand anxious as the moment of their birth

Sadness never need crawl in your darkness
As a wretched, loveless, forsaken thing
But deserves a champion’s seat next to who you’ve become
For that melancholy threads itself within your soul

Be thankful for that person within
Your hallowed silent trials and foibles
Know yourself. Know yourself better than anyone
Discover keys to forgive each step…

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FREE Kindle edition SISTERLY


Friday September 21 SISTERLY Kindle edition will be FREE to download! It was awarded as a finalist in the AMERICAN FICTION AWARDS! Here is a chance to read it for FREE!!!

You can download the APP from Amazon and read it from any smart phone, laptop or your desk top!

Here is the link

Please don’t forget to leave a review!


American Fiction Award- Finalist 2018 SISTERLY


Hey friends!

I have wonderful news about my latest release SISTERLY! It was awarded as a finalist in the American Fiction Awards in the psychological thriller category!https://www.amazon.com/dp/B074S63RLJ

I can’t express how special this is for me. You see, before my Momma passed away in February she was in the hospital. I would go see her during the day and we would eat lunch together. She was giving the nurses a run for their money and it was pure joy the spunk she still had in her. When I think about it, I can’t help but smile. That being said, during those lunches we talked a lot about me, still writing, and at the time my oldest sister had read Sisterly to her. Of course Momma would critic it back to me. One of those lunches Momma said “You are going to do something with your writings, just keep at it.” Momma was my biggest fan, that is for sure. That is why I can’t help but to think Momma made this award happen for me. I was feeling pretty defeated that day about my writings but Momma always encouraged me.  It’s special to have that encouragement and makes me smile, just as Momma did when she believed in me more than I did in myself.

Check it out


Thank you all for your support as I journey through my writing endeavor’s! This would have never been possible without all of you!

Lael Braday ~ I Hear Her Crying


DM du Jour

My baby girl died. But…

I hear her crying in the grave. They call it grief and force laudanum upon me. The drug weighs me down and slurs my words. Maxim, my love, does not understand my urgency. I cannot go to her grave with this weakness in my limbs. I can barely control the urge to scream. My fury rises in my like a wild animal. My baby hasn’t much time.

Curse the doctors! “Leave my home!” I scream.

I must save her. I cannot sleep. I send her love with all my heart. My soul cries out to a God I do not believe in to keep her until I reach her.


Horror sweeps over me as I awaken to Maxim watching over me from his rocking chair. I rise to climb in his lap and cry silently onto his shoulder. His tears also fall quietly. He…

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Mother’s Day without Momma


I got a text last week from my brother, he is the oldest of all of us kids. It read WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO ABOUT MOTHER’S DAY? My first instinct was to not respond. To avoid the thought of celebrating that day. It has only been three months. I wasn’t ready to celebrate that day without her. I was still and couldn’t respond. My sister then responded I’M GOING TO LAY IN BED AND CRY ALL DAY. I watched the text conversation and still I never responded. I felt the same way. I didn’t want to celebrate Mother’s day, although I am a mother, to me is was just another day coming, without my Momma. I cried when the messages went silent. I knew both my brother and sisters were feeling just as I was, probably crying as well. I thought back to last year’s Mother’s Day and I remember how sad I felt about celebrating without my mother-in-law being present. She had passed a month after Mother’s day of the previous year. My Momma had said to me “the first year without them is the hardest, but once you conquer those holiday’s, the rest won’t seem so bad.” My Momma’s voice played over in my mind, as if she was reciting those words to me again.
After a couple of days of not responding, a voice inside my mind said, WE CAN’T AVOID MOTHER’S DAY, MOMMA LOVED TO CELEBRATE MOTHER’S DAY! This voice was loud and wasn’t taking no for an answer.
You see, my mom loved to celebrate all the Holiday’s, she really didn’t celebrate Mother’s day because she was a mother; she celebrated all MOTHERS. If you were a Mother you were some kind of special. She would bring potted plants, cards, and goodies to every mother on Mother’s Day. The first year I was a Mother, she made sure I knew Mothers needed to be celebrated, she slipped me $50 to go get my hair done. Meanwhile, all I gave her was a card with baby split-up on it and a couple of scratch offs. Today, I totally understand why all Mother’s need to be celebrated, and I hope I can become the mother that she was.
So as I pondered on my thoughts and feelings about “Mother’s Day”, I knew we had to make something happened as a family. We need to still congregate together without Momma and celebrate all Mother’s. Not the fact that our mother was gone. I know she will be right there with us, she is already appointing everyone a responsibility. She wants me to bring some homemade macaroni salad. You know, the kind of macaroni salad with the little salad shrimp in it? One of Momma’s favorites.
We all decided to keep it simple. We have planned to all arrive at Momma and Daddy’s house, cook some hamburgers and hotdogs on Daddy’s grill, the one Momma had gotten for him last year. Add some slaw and baked beans to the plate and enjoy time with Daddy. We will celebrate all Mother’s. The Mother’s here and the ones in heaven. Sure it will be a tearful day without her, but I can assure you this, my Momma would approve.
HAPPY MOTHER’s DAY all of you awesome MOM’s!

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Happy Mother’s Day Momma!

Write through Grief-Our family Garden



Our family garden
What if Momma was the sun, Daddy was the moon, and we are their garden. She set gracefully every night, so the moon could rise…
She beams her rays upon us, by giving us life, and light. Momma illuminates our family garden. Even the moment’s clouds would cover her, followed by the rain. Momma was sure to pull herself out long enough to give us light, so we could grow. And sometimes, she would make sure we noticed the rainbow that followed.
She planted seeds in us, and in our garden. Tiny seeds that each of us would carry on our journeys. Unique to our individual self. Her warm love and bright rays nurtured our seeds so they would germinate and blossom.
She would often spot light the fragile butterflies and hummingbirds, fluttering about our garden. Showing each of us freedom of fight and the process of pollinating.
She would often speak to us about preparing ourselves for times when she is unable to shine upon our family garden, moments of storms passing, or when night would arrive. And she assured us that she was still here, although our blooms may wilt.
Each new day she would rise again, and encourage us with her glistening brilliance. She bounces her luminous radiance to each of us uniquely, to become a beautiful part of our own family gardens.
If ever you miss her, do not grieve for long, love her by stepping into a stream of sunlight. She will wrap her warm loving light around you, so you can reflect it back to this world.
She cherished our family garden, just as she cherishes each of us and our seedlings. All Momma every wanted for us was to bear a delightful garden of our own. With plenty of flowers.
She shined upon us, so brightly, that when evening arrives, the brilliant glowing moon can savor our beautiful, infinite, family garden they created. – Jorja DuPont Oliva March 21, 2018

family garden picture