Today I received the greatest compliment that maybe a writer can receive.
Today had been one of those days where just another leaf of grief floated past me as I prepare to say goodbye to Mum and Dad’s holiday house.
There was a knock on the door when I was cooking dinner. A local person who I known enough to say hi to in passing stood in front of me. In her hands was an incredible bunch of flowers. Initial, I thought was that this woman had mixed me up with the other Meg in Kensington (we are often mixed up: same age, name, both craft and have kids the same age). I prepared myself to tell her that those beautiful flowers weren’t for me.
She hugged me and explained that the flowers were to thank me for my words here, and more specifically what I wrote about Mum’s last weeks. As we stood on my verandah, me clutching these flowers, she told me that she had spent the day reading many posts, and reading about Mum dying. She was in tears as she thanked me for my writing, and wanted to encourage me to continue writing.
Her words humbled me. There really is no greater compliment than to know that my words have touched someone.
Thank you to you, my reader. The fact that you read my ramblings as I decifer the world around me fills me with courage. Having readers who like and comment, who reach out to talk to me helps me to bat away that negative inner voice that all us writers are blessed with (even if it is just for a moment).
Wow!
Yes. Wow indeed