My Essay:

A Mother’s Sense of Wonder
To lose a loved one is very hard to bear, but to lose a parent can be very heart-wrenching for a child at any age. Connie Schultz wrote “My Mom’s Wonderful, ‘Pinch Me’ Life,” which was published in 2012, in the Panama City News Herald, to share a positive memory of her mother’s vivacious view on life.
Connie Schultz recalls a wonderful memory of her mother a year before her death from lung disease. The first thing Schultz talks about is when her father brought her a bag full of dozens of clamshells her mother had carefully wrapped in tissue and had handwritten “Stone Harbor, N.J. – 8-98” on each one. Ms. Schultz goes on to tell how much her mother loved the beach and had only been twice in her life. In another memory, Ms. Schultz and two friends took her mother on a trip to the “Jersey Shore,” which led to the over enjoyment of her mother, causing her to drop her dog, Amber, to the floor once they told her of the trip. She goes on to share her favorite memorable part of riding in the minivan and the discussion about getting movie titles wrong, to the confusing looks on her friends faces and the outbursts of everyone’s laughter. Schultz shares how her mother greeted everyone at the harbor as she was the town Mayor and giggled herself pink when a stranger flirted with her. Her mother’s avidity for life was felt in the countless hours of collecting shells on the beach and taking pictures of every inch of her room so she wouldn’t forget anything about her trip. Lastly, Schultz shares that for a long time she was unable to look at the shells and that she buried them in a drawer. After coming across them 14 years later, they were like a nudge from her mother who never lost her sense of wonder. This led Schultz to leave the shells in random places around her home. She would put them where she was sure to see them and every so often, she picked one up and squeeze it, “grateful for the reminder to live a pinch-me life.”
While reading this article, I could feel the emotion that Ms. Schultz was projecting throughout her story. I enjoyed how the flow of the story made me feel the humor and love of her mother. I would be lost without my mother. If I were to lose her when that time comes, I have high hopes that I, too, will be able to share such wonderful memories as Connie Schultz did.

(I am having trouble with the last line of the last paragraph. I don't feel it shows the tone of what the author is trying to project in her article.)

Here is the original article:

Connie Schultz: My Mom's Wonderful, "Pinch Me" Life
CONNIE SCHULTZ
JULY 01, 2012

A few years after Mom died, Dad showed up for lunch wearing the soft smile that took over his face whenever he was thinking about her.

“Found these,” he said, handing me a lumpy plastic bag. “She would have wanted you to have them.”
When I started to peek into the bag, he cleared his throat and said, “Later, okay?” Off we went, to a burger joint down the street.

That evening, I opened the bag to find dozens of clamshells, each one wrapped in white tissue paper and bearing Mom’s handwritten inscription: Stone Harbor, N.J.—8-98. The shells were bleached dirty white and streaked with tiny threads of gray and brown. Pretty plain, but to Mom, they were evidence of her endlessly magical life.

She was 61 when she collected these shells, and already showing signs of the lung disease that would kill her the next year. We didn’t know that then. We just knew something was wrong and Mom needed an adventure. She suggested dinner and a movie. Two friends and I had bigger plans.

Our working-class mother ¬never took beach vacations, unless you counted the hundreds of bike rides to Lake Erie’s shore. Mom had been to the ocean only twice, on trips to the East Coast with Dad after I went to college. She loved the seashore. Her kitchen, decorated with souvenirs from those two trips, looked like a shrimp boat.

When I called Mom with our plans, she was sitting on the couch with her dog Amber on her lap. As soon as I said “Jersey Shore,” Mom shrieked and Amber tumbled to the floor. When I told her she’d be able to hear the ocean from her window, she started to cry.

For Mom, the adventure began with the long drive. Everything about it—a minivan full of females, turnpike food, all of those out-of-state signs—was evidence of her pinch-me life. Over and over she shouted—she always shouted in vans and airplanes—“I can’t believe I’m going to New Jersey!” You would have thought we were on the road to Aruba.

One of my favorite memories was a discussion about movies. Mom loved them but often got the titles wrong. “Ohhhh,” she said, “what was that movie about the teacher at the boys’ school? With the Mork & Mindy guy?”

Before anyone could answer, she shouted, “I remember! The Dead Man’s Poet!” I looked in the rearview mirror and saw a backseat full of confusion. “Mom,” I said. “You mean Dead Poets Society.” “That’s it!” Mom yelled. Laughter filled the car. We went on to discuss The Unmasked Man (Man in the Iron Mask), Wanting Ned (Waking Ned Devine), and my own favorite, Texas Jigsaw Massacre. “No, Janey,” my friend Fleka told Mom. “You mean Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The Jigsaw Massacre was the sequel, when they tried to piece back together all the body parts.”

Once we got to Stone Harbor, Mom acted like the town mayor, greeting everyone as if they were loyal constituents. She giggled herself pink when a stranger flirted with her, read tabloids when she thought I wasn’t looking, and spent hours collecting shells on the beach. The morning we left, I found her photographing every inch of her bedroom. “I don’t ever want to forget this,” she said.

For a long time, Mom’s shells stayed buried in a drawer, out-of-sight reminders of my loss. Last month, I rediscovered them while rummaging for something else. Nearly 14 years later, they’re a collective nudge from a mother who never lost her sense of wonder.

One by one, the shells are finding a new place in our home. One sits by my computer. Another rests on the windowsill over the kitchen sink. I put them where I’m sure to see them. Every so often, I pick one up and squeeze it, grateful for the reminder to live a pinch-me life.

This is the part I am having trouble with:

This led Schultz to leave the shells in random places around her home. She would put them where she was sure to see them and every so often, she picked one up and squeeze it, “grateful for the reminder to live a pinch-me life.”

I am having trouble showing the author’s primary purpose, tone, or a quote to illustrate the tone.