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First, HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY to anyone who fills that role for a kid.
Thank you.
Mom, your cards are gonna be late, because they’ve been vacationing in my bag since mid-April and just came up for air yesterday.
I can’t tell you how much it means to me to know that you love me anyway.
Um . . . Right?
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In honor of Mother’s Day, I’m backing up a little in the story and sharing part of a message sent to Clyota from her mother, who, as anyone who’s stuck with this so far may remember, was a well-respected space pilot who was posthumously convicted of murdering the population of an entire lunar base. This hasn’t made Clyota’s life a picnic, but they had their differences prior to that, too.
I’d also like to add, in honor of my own mother, that none of this novel is in any way biographical or autobiographical, except for a couple of work-related issues I may or may not be harboring; if Mom’s a mass murderer, she got clean away with it. My mother is a wonderful woman with a great sense of humor and a forgiving nature who in no way resembles Clyota’s mother—except I’d like to think that she’s proud of me, too.
“I’m sorry to dump all this in your lap, but I don’t trust anyone else to do what’s right. I don’t know if I trust myself . . . but I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. You know me. . .
“I hope that it isn’t necessary for you to go public, but if it is, I’m sorry for the trouble it’s sure to cause.
“One last thing: I love you, Clyota. And I’ve always been very proud of you for standing up for what you believe in, even if it isn’t what I had in mind—I guess that proves you’re mine.
“I know I haven’t always shown it and God knows I wasn’t the best mother in the world—spent too much time away, I guess. But I want you to know that being your mother is the greatest honor I have ever been given.
Earful of Cider 