On Moms and Magic and Love and Loss

Today is the 14th anniversary of my mom’s transition to whatever comes after these earthly lives. Our relationship was beautiful, flawed, painful, and full of love and acceptance for each other exactly as we were.

She was my softest place to land. She was the place from which I felt safe enough to dream of the life I have now. She didn’t know a lot of love in her life and she figured out loving on her own, a remarkable feat. She broke cycles and curses and lived her truth when people thought her truth was weird and off-putting.

She taught me to trust myself and the universe. She didn’t leave anything unsaid, and neither did I. She knew the love I had for her was too large to be contained in words, even though I’d try. She was here one day and gone the next, after an afternoon of trading seeds across the garden fence and eating some ice cream before bed.

She taught me self-reliance and she showed me that it’s possible to become what you need, even if you aren’t sure how. She was magic she was righteous rage she was unrequited love she was love fulfilled.

She was holy, even if only a few of us saw her holiness. It was so obvious to us, and everyone else missed out.

I have experienced so much loss, and while all grief changes our landscape, my grief over her death cut through me like the glaciers cut through land. I am more rolling hills with meadow flowers than jagged edges and erosion now, but grief and love led me through, and the landscape of my grief is remarkable and beautiful and joyful and sometimes lonely, but it is all mine.

I loved her so. She was so weird and funny and loving and courageous. How lucky I am that she was my steward into this earthly life and was able to stick around with me for 31 years. What a dream, what a gift, to be loved as she loved me. ✨💖✨