Happy Friday! Today on Help From My Friends, I welcome my friend Sue who writes as Melanie Kraus. Authors have many, many reasons to write. I don’t think I’ve ever read such a profound or wonderful reason why. Please welcome Author Melanie Kraus.
By: Melanie Kraus
Author Melanie Kraus
Her name was Carla Palmer. Her friends and family called her Mickie. Her sister called her Mouse. I called her Mom. She was an incredible woman, but I don’t think I truly understood that until she was gone. To me she was always Mom.
We officially met in October of 1963. She used to tell me it was a typical cool Friday night. A quiet evening at home, just her and dad and my big brother. They’d finished dinner when there was a knock at the door. Dad answered it and a group of neighborhood kids stood on the other side. They were in the middle of a scavenger hunt and wanted to know if we had some cotton balls they could have. Mom went the bathroom to get them, and her water broke as she was coming back to the door. Two hours-ish later, I was born.
She named me Melanie, but that’s not what I was called. The story goes when my Aunt Millie, my mom’s sister, took one look at me, she declared that I did not look like a Melanie and my middle name was used from then on…by everyone, including Mom.
I don’t know how Mom discovered my name, but she loved it. I hated it. The only time I was ever called Melanie was on the first day of school during attendance and then I quickly demanded to be called by my middle name. But from time to time, I was called Melanie and then it was usually my full name; first, middle, last, and usually coming from my dad. And it could only mean one thing. I was in trouble. But that’s a different story.
My brother and I were the original ‘latch key kids.’ Mom had to work to keep our heads above water. She was the main bread winner, and we didn’t have much money growing up. We lived barely above the poverty line, but we lacked for nothing. Mom lacked, but not us.
She would come home from work, exhausted, cook dinner then clean up. And nearly every night for years, she would read to me. Short, simple stories when I was little, then longer ones as I grew older. Charlotte’s Web, Stuart Little, Where the Red Ferns Grows, Are You there God? It’s Me, Margaret became childhood favorites. And this is where I came to love books.
Mom was my first friend, my first fan, and I wanted to be in
her orbit all the time. When something went bad, it was Mom’s arms that held me close. When something went right, it was Mom’s smile that lit up my world. Whatever I wanted to do, Mom was there to say, “Yes! You should try that.” She wanted me to be whatever I dreamed of being. It wouldn’t be until later in my childhood when I would learn that a lot of kids didn’t have the kind of mom I had.
See her mother died when she was four and she was put in an orphanage when she was eight. What she longed for most, for her whole life, was a mom. She vowed to be the type of mother she never had. And she hit it out of the park. My mom was dedicated to her family, to our well-being. No matter what I did, no matter how much trouble I got in, no matter how much I fought with my brother, or sassed her, or defied her, she loved me. Unconditionally. Completely. With her whole heart. With all she had. Mom was my hero.
Mom was a creative. It literally poured from her fingers. Her creative outlets were cooking, sewing, knitting, decorating, and crafts. She could look at a color, like orange, and tell you if it had more of a red base or yellow and then match it perfectly. She could taste the spices in a dish and duplicate it perfectly.
I can’t count the number of times I sat in the kitchen watching her cook, pulling ingredients from the cupboard, creating an amazing meal using only a can of tuna, a can of veggies and cream of mushroom soup.
Mom sang. Lord she had a gorgeous voice. She received a record contract but turned it down because it would take her away from her family. She played the piano and wrote music. She wrote poems. Then she wrote books. And then we wrote together. She never published her stories. She never lived to see me publish my stories. But I have all of hers.
I look back on my childhood and can’t imagine what my life would have been like without her influence. She cheered me on, bandaging my wounds, healing my hurts, or sharing my pain when those hurts were beyond her ability to repair.
Mom was my example. My barometer of what a mother should be and what a woman could be. Even as I write this, my mind is flooded with her and the daily sacrifice she made for me with a smile on her face and not a trace of regret in her heart.
I miss her every day. I long for the sound of her voice and her laughter. She had a great laugh. I miss the touch of her hands and her hugs. I miss my mom. Sometimes if I sit quietly, close my eyes, I think I can hear her…almost.
Mom is the woman behind me. And I write as Melanie to honor her.
About Finding Mister a Match:
A ghost on a mission will do whatever it takes to help her loved ones find their soulmates.
In life, Naomi Prescott believed love was a devastating emotion to be avoided. In death, she’s learned the truth…it’s all that matters. Now she’s a ghost on a mission and she’ll do whatever it takes to help her loved ones find their soulmates.
TV celebrity veterinarian, Dr. Mike Prescott is consumed with grief and guilt. He certainly doesn’t want to renovate his grandmother’s house into an animal rehab and no-kill shelter. But that’s exactly what his producer and partners want. Or he’s out. He needs a project manager…now.
Kayla Davis’ scars are more than skin deep. They’re a reminder that love cost her nearly everything. All she desires is to get lost in Arizona. Instead, she’s stranded on the side of the road in Denver. Without a car or a roof over her head. Kayla desperately needs a job and she’ll take just about anything.
Kayla’s secrets prevent her from easily trusting. Mike’s used to fixing broken things, but her wounds may be beyond repair. And while he can’t deny his attraction to her, Mike wonders if her past might ruin his future?
About Melanie Kraus: Melanie blames her mom for her love of romance novels. She received her first novel when she was fourteen after pestering her mom to read one. Now she writes what she loves to read.
Melanie lives in beautiful Colorado and has been married to the love of her life for thirty-seven years. Together, they have raised two wonderful daughters and now share space with one indulged cat, two entitled dogs and two spoiled turtles…and, yes, turtles can be spoiled.
Melanie retired from eighteen plus years in law enforcement and now is privileged to call herself a full-time writer. When Melanie’s not writing paranormal romance novels, she is playing electronic games, completing craft projects, or simply spending time with her family, friends, and her critters.
Connect with Melanie:
Website: Melanie Kraus
Facebook: Melanie Kraus
Instagram: Melanie Kraus Writer
Pinterest: Melanie Kraus
This is such a lovely post, Sue (Melanie). I happen to love the name Melanie. In my debut book, that was my protagonist’s name. I heard your mother sing and I was in awe. She was also a lovely human being, and I can’t imagine how much you miss her. But what a legacy she left you. I also know you wrote together. I read some of your early work and was mesmerized. Wishing you much success on Finding Mister a Match!
What a lovely, beautiful tribute! I loved reading it. Thank you!! 🙂
What a lovely post and the name Melanie is so lovely too. vb
Your mother sounds like a lovely–and loving–woman. And it sounds as if you’ve followed in her footsteps.
A tribute to your wonderful mother and what she did to make your life so full of love.
Oh my heart. This is beautiful and it’s so much how I remember your mom. Thank you for sharing this. Made me cry.