Dedication

When I think about my life, it is sometimes hard to separate “me” from the people whose influence helped shape me. Like a fine piece of linen, my life has been so tightly woven with theirs that pulling one thread might unravel the entire fabric of who I am.

Some people’s stars shone in my life only briefly, while others provided a lasting light. While I cannot name them all here, I have always tried to be vocal in my gratitude for the support they have given me along the way.

One person I must recognize, although I never had the opportunity to meet her in this life, is Grandma Hartley. I came to know her through Granny and Mama and through the things she left behind: the Underwood typewriter her father, Grandpa Ellis, gave her when she went to Coker College in Hartsville, and the medal awarded for her writing in 1911. That medal passed to Mama and then to me.

More than a century later, the medal became the emblem of Somewhere Between Here and Paradise, and her typewriter became my tangible connection to the gift of words she passed down through our family. In many ways, these stories began in Hartsville long before I ever thought to write them.

Her voice lives on, too, in the words that began so many of her stories: “Years and years ago…”

To Mama

No one has ever understood me the way you did — no one ever will.

You were my eternal champion, cheerleader, and guardian in the darkness and the light.

Not only did we share the same DNA and many of the same physical characteristics, but we thought the same thoughts, spoke the same words, and, more often than not, finished one another’s sentences.

If I had a dollar for every time I heard you say, “God, Dennis, I was thinking the exact same thing,” I’d be a rich man.

To this day, when I’m having a bad day, your words ring in my ears as if you were sitting on my bed, as you did when I was a little boy: “Denny, always remember, tomorrow will be better.”

Beneath all that love and tenderness was a fireball packed into a 4’10” frame who would not be backed into a corner — not without a fight.

Your principles guide me to this day: “Actions speak louder than words.”

You were always my balance, my equilibrium.

You kept me grounded, and as you always reminded me, “You may be a grown man, but I’m your Mama, and I can still bring you to your knees if I have to.” Yes, Mama, you can.

Mama, you were the person who gave me life. You are my north star, the soul that guided and shaped me into the person I have become. Without you having been you, I could never have become me.

To Granny

What can I say? Your wit and humor kept me in stitches.

I’d often provoke you just to hear one of your Grannyisms.

To this day, my favorite remains: “Makes my ass want a sip of ice water.”

Like Mama, people often underestimated your small stature, expecting to hear a “meow,” but what they got was the resounding “growl” of a wildcat!

Tough as nails and as tender as a wildflower — a juxtaposition that I have always admired and have yet to emulate.

Your Murphy roots, your stories of growing up in Peru — now part of Riverview — and simply watching you move through the world enriched my life.

My love of music — jazz and the big bands — comes directly from you.

I remember Sunday morning breakfasts with homemade biscuits and gravy.

All those things continue to revive the memories and bring joy to my life. Your direct, no-nonsense way of expressing yourself keeps me grounded and prevents me from becoming “too big for my britches.”

To Nana

You were the example of a life well lived — a life of balance even when the waters were turbulent.

Calm and unwaveringly faithful, you were so loving and giving.

When we came to your house, we were always greeted at the door with a hug. When we left, we always left with something — food, a gift, something!

Your stories of growing up on Grange Hall Loop, your storytelling ability, your phrasing, and your expressions are among the driving forces behind my writing and my desire to preserve something that’s all but gone.

Your patience and ability to teach remain with me, too — showing me how to make biscuits in the kitchen and, from your easy chair, how to hold a crochet hook and yarn and make a stitch.

I remember big Sunday dinners after church — meals you had prepared before leaving for church — along with cheese toast or silver-dollar pancakes for breakfast and tapioca pudding for dessert, a family favorite.

To this day, when I’m frustrated, I ask myself: WWND?

What would Nana do?

To Grandma Murphy

It has been so many years, yet you have been with me every day of my life.

I can’t remember a day that I haven’t thought about you over these past forty years.

Your presence was formidable — dominating, even — yet you were as tender as a lamb.

I never remember hearing you say an unkind word about anyone.

Your sweet tenderness will remain with me all the days of my life.

I remember you in the kitchen, standing at the stove making hoe cake. I remember the smell of guava cobbler in the oven and watching you mix your famous Sour Cream Pound Cake in the bowl that had belonged to your “Mama.”

My love of gardening and working in the yard — raking leaves, walking behind the lawn mower, and burning the trash — ranks among my best childhood memories.

Your work ethic and your belief that “You can live in a tar-paper shack, but if you keep your yard, it can look like a mansion” keep me grounded. Because of you, I have always known that “you can do anything that you put your mind to.”

To Uncle Glenn

You were always there for Mama and me — no matter what.

You are still there for me today — my last connection to Mama.

From a young age, you included me in adult work and trusted me with real responsibility. Climbing onto the roof of the little Allen house in Riverview to patch a leak and disking the fields in Keysville at ten years old profoundly shaped my life.

You put me on a tractor at ten years old!

Without your support, encouragement, and example, I’m not sure I would have pursued a career in real estate or achieved the success I have enjoyed.

You always made me feel like an adult, but you never forgot that I was still a child, surprising me with “exploding” Christmas presents.

To Gerardo

My partner in crime.

What a ride it has been these past twenty-two years.

We’ve been through the good, the bad, and the ugly, and we’re still standing.

We’ve built an amazing life and a successful business.

We’ve seen the world.

We’re still seeing the world.

We’ve loved, we’ve lost, and we’ve fought — but that’s just how we communicate.

You have always been there when I needed you — no questions asked. And, as you say, it will be “us” to the very end.

Because you are “the Latino” — your words, not mine — I have been able to navigate life in Costa Rica with an ease that otherwise would not have been possible. You have also added spice and excitement to my otherwise grounded, rather boring life.

If I could do it over again, I wouldn’t change a damn thing!

To Laurie

From the first day we met at The Spaghetti Warehouse, we were besties.

Your quick wit was exactly the match I needed.

Do two sharps make a flat?

Beyond that, you are multifaceted, intelligent, kind, and one hell of a human being.

You have been my longtime “editor-in-chief” and have encouraged me in every endeavor I have undertaken.

For that, “Dita” is forever grateful.