Samhain Publishing

Several years ago, I was waiting to adopt my first child. As part of the contract with our agency, my husband and I were required to attend a regular monthly support group. Most of the members of the group were like us: 30-somethings who had survived infertility and were now hoping to adopt an infant or a toddler. But there was one couple who was markedly different: “Mary” and “Jeff.”

Mary and Jeff had already given birth to two children and raised them both through high school. But on the day of graduation, their lives were permanently changed by a drunk driver who struck their daughter’s vehicle and ultimately ended both their son’s and daughter’s lives in under a minute.

When I met Mary and Jeff, they were in their mid-fifties and they were seeking to adopt two children over the age of six. They had grieved their losses for nearly a decade, and had come to the conclusion that they were not ready to give up on parenting; they had more love to give. I admired this couple, but also feared them. Mary was fond of saying, “If I’m not a mother, then I am no one. For ten years, I’ve been no one.”

At the time, I swore to myself that I would never allow any one relationship to dominate my identity such that it’s dissolution would destroy me. I liked who I was, and I saw myself as far more complex than any one role. I thought Mary had put herself in a vulnerable place because of a flaw in her character.

Three years later, I had a two year old son, Nate. My name had changed from “Kerri” to “Nate’s Mom,” and I loved it. I spent my days singing Raffi songs, dancing in the grocery aisle, and experiencing a sense of wonder about the world that I had long-since abandoned. Motherhood was all I’d imagined, and more.

But then one day I lost Nate in the clothing racks at Target. My head spun and I felt every powerful emotion tornado inside me like a fury. When I saw him hiding in the clothing rack a few minutes later, I swept him up in my arms and cried. In my head, Mary’s voice called out: “If you lost him, who would you be?” For the first time in my life, I realized I’d given myself fully to another. If I lost my child, who would I be? I didn’t know. And the thought terrified me.

That night, I wrote the sentence in a journal. The page stayed blank for many weeks. And then one day a second voice — a more familiar one, the voice of my father — spoke in my head: “If you write it, you will be free.”

Strawberries in Winter was born 9 months later.

A story of motherhood, identity, and family secrets, I hope this novel will find it’s way onto your bookshelf and into your heart.

Respectfully,
Kerri

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“My name is Kerri, and I steal pens.” (This is where you are all supposed to say: “Hello, Kerri.”)

Okay, I don’t exactly “steal” them; I attract them. They seem to find their way into my pockets, my purse, my tote bags… I swear I don’t put them there. But glancing at my desk right now, I see a collection of black and blue ink pens, all touting their unique heritage: “Home Depot”, “Punjab Indian Cuisine,” “Weight Watchers,” “Advantage for Dogs,” “Bay State Cheer”….

My pen collection bears witness to my daily life: where I shop, where I eat, where I exercise, and where I taxi my children for sports. It also tells the world that I have an unhealthy compulsion. (When was the last time you were given a free pen at the dentist’s office? I have several.)

As a preventative effort, I often tell my students, upfront, to watch their pens, because if they give me one to sign a form, I’m likely to find it on my desk a few hours later. When I borrow a pen from a clerk to write a check, I often comment, “I’ll try to remember not to pocket this…” And yet, my pen cup runneth over….

As it stands, I figure I have three choices: 1) Drive all over the place trying to return these kidnapped writing instruments (Where the heck IS ‘Crystal’s Shoe Shop’, anyway?); 2) Accept my pathology and seek support from others to control my compulsion (Seems like a lot of effort…); or 3) Reframe it.

Today, I like the latter. So…

My name is Kerri. I am a writer with a passion for all things related to the art of putting words on paper… (“Hello, Kerri…”)

We’ve all been there…

Everything is going fine. You’ve managed to bundle your toddler into his fifteen layers of winter clothing, strapped him into the car seat without pinching his fingers, made it through half of your shopping list by bribing him with goldfish crackers, and managed to keep both shoes on his feet.

But somewhere around the middle of the store, the goldfish crackers run out, the shoe falls off, and your overheated toddler begins to beg for freedom. As the pitch of his scream escalates, you realize people are staring — whispering. Rather than risk being reported for child abuse or having to explain how your son managed to shatter all the glass display cabinets with only his voice, you release him from the carriage and let him walk beside you. Then you see the shoes…

Ah, yes. Those beautiful shoes. They’re on sale. They have your size. What harm could it do to try them on? You slip the strappy sandals over your grey tube socks with holes in the toes, and take a few tentative steps. You turn to show your child, and…. he’s gone.

For the next several moments, before you find him lurking in the racks merrily trying bras and panties on his head, you experience an out-of-body moment in which all time stands still, terror becomes you, and the world fades to grey.

This was the moment that gave birth to Strawberries in Winter. My child was lost, and in that brief eternity, a voice inside my head wondered, “If I lost you, who would I be?”

Strawberries in Winter explores the complexity of motherhood in modern times. It raises questions about the power of forgiveness, the depth of maternal love, and the need for identity.

Kyra Adams is fading into the footnotes of other people’s lives, and only one man can set her free. But his secrets may ultimately destroy all that she loves. Will she have the courage to face the truth? Or are some secrets better left untold?

Uncover the mysteries of Strawberries in Winter…

See the video. Read the book.