Young little puppies on New Year's Eve 1999 in NYC

I’m currently in DC visiting my best friend A., who I’ve known since I was 14 and we were besties in Alpharetta, Georgia, but who I now only get to see once or twice a year. She had a baby girl in June, and while many of my friends and cousins have already gone down the kiddie path, A. having a baby somehow feels dramatically different to me. 

After all, this is a girl who I met when we were overgrown children ourselves; who I giggled about Brad Pitt with during our Legends of the Fall-obsessed days in the mid-90s; who I traipsed around New York City with during college; and whose maid-of-honor I was, well, honored to be when she married. 

A baby brings it full circle and reminds me how quickly the sands are snaking through the center of the hourglass. Tick, tock! No time to waste! Life is waiting!

Remarkably, A. and I hadn’t chatted in detail about my mother’s death since A. visited her in the hospital a few days before Mama Jolie died. That’s the amazing thing about a life-long friend; you can (and often, probably, will) lose touch with them over the years, coming together at times both random and momentous–a death; a wedding; a quick work trip; a baby–but when you do reunite, it’s like no time has passed.

A. asked me how long it had been since my mother died–”About six or seven months, right?”–and we were both a little stunned to realize it’s been a year and a half: my god, how time flies. Of course, I’ve been soul-searching like nobody’s business in the interim, and I’m happy to report that I feel like I’m coming to the very end of the tunnel. A few months after Mama Jolie died, somebody told me that the first year is hard, but the second year is much harder, because everybody forgets about you, stops checking up on you, and expects you to be over it. Grief this far out is seen as indulgent, excessive. I’m sorry to report that it does, indeed, persist, and that the second year is, as promised, harder. At least, it has been for me.

Chin up, buttercup, though, because this year has also been wonderful, and praise sweet baby Jesus, the writer’s block that stopped me from working on my third book vanished recently, leaving me quivering with a desire to get it all out on paper! (I also have an exciting personal announcement around the corner, so stay tuned for that one.) Now we just need a hot little studmuffin to keep Jolie warm at night, and we’ll be all set…

But enough about that! I’m so grateful to have a friend like A. in my life; grateful, in fact, that I have several kick-ass women like her I’m blessed to call life-long gal pals. I should let them know more often how much they mean to me–after all, I learned with my mom that you can’t take the people around you for granted, because we sadly won’t be together forever.

Tell your people you love them! (Better yet, show them–actions, words, loudness demonstrated, you know the drill.)

Friends, if you can believe it, today marks a full year since my mother Nancy passed away.  (Here, and here.)  I miss and think about her everyday…and thankfully, I’m okay.  Better than okay!

It’s been a year full of ups and downs, and from what I’ve heard, the second year is sometimes harder than the first, as those closest to you feel it’s time to “move on” and sometimes forget to provide support.  After all, we all have our own lives and trials to deal with!

I just want to say that all of you, regardless of whether we’ve ever met in person, have given my family so much support and kindness this past year, and I am thankful for every last ounce of it.  I was a bit depressed halfway through the year and my writing and work suffered as a result, but life has gone on, and it now feels richer, more wondrous, sadder, happier, and more bountiful.  I’m honored you’ve all taken this journey with me, and wish my mom could be there to share it with us.

Here’s to another year of beauty–and life!

Love to my mother Nancy, and love to all of you.

xo, Nadine

Hello my loves!  A brief apology for being MIA this week.  It’s a big, busy, thoughtful time in Jolie-land.  Today is the one-year anniversary of the day I discovered my mother’s cancer was terminal and flew to her bedside; I also went full-time freelance today, which has been a long, exciting time coming.  (So, a little bad, a little good.) My little brother P. turns 20 on Saturday…and then this coming Monday the 14th marks the 1-year of Mama Jolie’s death.  Lots of thinking and praying and soul-searching here…but back to regularly scheduled business soon.  Love you all!

Today would have been my mother Nancy’s 56th birthday.  I’m still sidelined with swine flu (am I joking?  I have no idea–whatever this sickness is, it’s kicking my butt!) so my days since returning from England have consisted of sleep, water, pasta, and watching TV in the fetal position on the couch.  I have no motivation or energy for anything beauty-related.  Regardless, I dragged myself to the store this afternoon, bought a chocolate cupcake and a candle, and–while on the phone with my brother–sang Happy Birthday to Mama Jolie.

I can’t believe it’s already been 10 months since she died.  In some ways, it feels like it was only yesterday.  Some days are hard, others are effortless, and I don’t really know how the grieving process will evolve.  In general, I fluctuate between supreme motivation and just…being tired.  I tell myself that, after I get some sleep one night or one weekend, I will feel refreshed, charged, ready to make my mark again.  Some days and weeks that holds true, and others I feel like a blob of wasted potential.  There’s really no rhyme or reason, I suppose.

It was hard to memorialize my mother today; simply no energy in the tank for it.  October 20th is a day like any other, but it felt important to celebrate the little milestone, even though I’m tired, even though I’m sick, even though Mama J. is no longer here.  I think about her every day, but my mother had a little bit of narcissist in her (hey, Jolie has to get it from somewhere!) and I know that she would have been happy I made the extra effort on her most special, All-About-Nancy day.

Love you, mama.  Still miss you like a maniac.

Years ago, I was engrossed in a documentary about the legendary hedonism of Studio 54 when my mother wandered into the room in her flannel nightgown, perching on the edge of the couch.  “Ah, yes, Steve Rubell,” she commented, primly sipping her nighttime tea.  “He always used to let me in.”  I nearly fell out of my seat.  My clean-cut, wide-eyed mother…at Studio 54?  (The mind still boggles.)  I immediately conjured up mental images of Mama Jolie in the 70s, based upon photos I’d seen: golden, waist-length locks gleaming like a Breck ad, eyeliner applied with a trowel, Brooke Shields-worthy brows proudly framing her sky-blue eyes, full, glossy lips.  I could picture the devil-may-care glam, but not the disco glitz–and still wonder what my mother was really like at my age.  A personal-Jolie mystery for the ages that will never be fully resolved…

Naturally, this Estée Lauder ad for the new Sensuous Gold makeup collection mesmerized me with its Me Decade drama.  The bronze!  The brows!  The beauty!  I envision dusting on the Gilded Rose Shimmer Powder, defining my eyes in amethyst and gold, coaxing my wimpy little blonde whisps into Fierce Diva Brows and flattening my hair like a (very shiny) pancake.  Armed with my Glamazon Beauty, I’d march off into the night–taking no prisoners, stirring up trouble, breaking a few hearts here and there…but above all making sharp memories to share with my daughter one day.  Proof, then, that her mother was also once young and vibrant, and wouldn’t go gently into that good night.  (Well, at least not unless there was a margarita bar and Sephora on the other side.)