Truth in fiction

So, tonight, for the first time since JUNE, I picked up on my fantasy story, and started to edit again. It’s good, really good, and my character makes a comment that at once was sad and poignant - to me:

“I don’t even know WHAT my mother is now,” I said between sobs.  “Is she alive?  Dead?  Superhuman?  I have no idea, but she can never be just my mother ever again.”

I wrote this, I think, inspired by my own mother’s slide into Alzheimer’s.  I wonder if the line will touch readers the way I want, the way I feel.  The mother’s slide from being a queen to being something other worldly does seem (to me) to mimic what I feel about Mom.

Wow.  It’s really a lovely story I’ve written here.  I NEED to finish it, all I needed to do was to get back to it.  I’ll commit now to at least work on it weekly, if not nightly, even for a little bit, and when I’m settled in my new home, I’ll look for a writer’s support group.

Or start one.  Good deal.