My Guest Post on

17.8.2012 | 17:42

A big thank you goes out to my friend and fabulous author, Rachel from and Today is a hard day for me and my family but I have found that writing about it helps.

Taken from

I’m honored to host author Melissa Huie (The Broken Road) here today with a touching tribute to her mother, and a cool story about a butterfly. Please give Melissa some love at the bottom in comments and check out her excellent book.

This day holds particular meaning for her. I’m so glad she decided to share it with us.

Flying With The Angels

Everyone has that moment in time, when your life as you know it has changed. That moment was mine, eight years ago today.

Frozen in time, my memories from that day still go thru my mind every day. Eight years ago, I was a twenty-three years old, with a husband and one year old daughter. I had just gotten home from work, enjoying the brief respite from mommyhood as my daughter was with my in-laws for the night. I was making a snack in my grey kitchen and on the phone with my friend Courtney, when a call beeped in. Checking the caller id, I saw it was my then brother-in-law, Xavier. The call changed my life.

“You need to get here quickly. Rocky found your mom, she wasn’t breathing. They took her to the hospital.” My heart stopped and I let out a cry of panic. I screamed for my husband, who ran quickly into the living room. We beelined for the car. The drive to West Virginia was the longest hour and half of my life. As we drove down the Dulles Toll Road in Loudoun County, I frantically made the calls to my mother’s three sisters. Listening to my aunt Barbara screaming her prayers to God to save my mother broke my heart even more. Then, the call came from Xavier, telling me to go to the house and not to the hosptial. I screamed the question, the dreaded question that my family demanded from me. I knew, deep down, the answer already.

“Is she dead, Xavier? Is my mom dead?” He choked on his sobs as he answered yes. I screamed. My husband shouted in disbelief. I hung up with Xavier and made the calls to my aunts. Listening to their sobs, their cries of despair, killed me. We got to the small home that my mother shared with my two stepsisters and my stepfather, Rocky. My younger sister, Laura, had already arrived and sobbed in my arms.

The week was the longest week of my life. As the calls were made and the arrangements were decided, we grieved. I grieved the loss of my best friend, of the best mother I could ever know. My mother was an amazing woman. She didn’t cure cancer; she didn’t go to the moon. She had her faults. But she was my mother; the mom who made me a full Thanksgiving dinner for my birthday because of pregnancy cravings. The same mom who taught me how to drive, to stand-up for myself in the face of bullies, to say no to friends who didn’t have my best interest in mind. The same mom who was there for me whenever I had a problem, allowed me to curse her out then cry on her shoulder, asking for forgiveness. At the funeral, her closest friends, her family, her business partners, all came together to celebrate her life. To tell me stories about how her good-natured laugh and kind heart touched their lives.

At the burial, I stood beside my husband, family and friends, listening to the pastor speak. I could see my daughter chasing butterflies close by, under the watchful eye of my sister-in-law. I happen to glance at the pastor, when I saw a butterfly land on his bible. He said, “Bless you,” and the butterfly flew away.

After the service, my husband, stepfather and I went back to my stepfather’s house, where he lived with my mom, where she died. We walked onto his front porch, and there was a butterfly, very similar to the one that landed on the bible. My stepfather told the butterfly, “I’ll be fine Nancy. I love you,” and walked into the house. When we came back out, the butterfly was still there. Shockingly, he bent down and the butterfly landed onto his finger. Rocky gently pressed his lips to beautiful creature and the butterfly fluttered over to the railing. Amazed, I did the same thing. I held out of my finger, gently brought it to my lips, and said a prayer. A prayer of thanks. And said goodbye.

But I never truly got to say goodbye. My mom was taken from our lives in such a swift and cruel manner; I am still coming to grips with it. It kills me everyday when I can’t call her and ask her for advice. It breaks my heart when my kids ask about her. My kids don’t know her, but they know the memories of her and they see her pictures prominently displayed in the house. She wasn’t here for the births of my sons, my niece or my nephews, but I know she’s watching over them. I know she’s watching over us.

When writing The Broken Road, I put so many elements of my own life and personality into the story. The urge to put my own mom in the book was overwhelming. I wanted everyone to know her, know that she was my rock in life, my guardian angel, my best friend. In The Broken Road, the mom is Norah. But her personality and heart, is my mom Nancy.

I love you, Mom.


Rachel Thompson aka RachelintheOC is a published author and social media consultant. Her two books, A Walk In The Snark and The Mancode: Exposed are both #1 Kindle bestsellers! When not writing, she helps authors and other professionals with branding and social media for her company, BadRedhead Media. She hates walks in the rain, running out of coffee, and coconut. Buy Now : A Walk in the Snark * Mancode: Exposed

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