5 things for her, of her

1. I found myself wishing, as I (now remember I) do every springtime, that my mother could have experienced this southeast Springtime exuberance. The wish came with a deep ache as it tends to do, sharp in its unexpectedness even after so many years.

2. The traditions I was raised in didn't impart practices of relationship to those who have passed. I've only encountered some sense of this through my somatic lineages, a felt sense of connection to what and who have come before. The white western cultural engorgement on self, on NOW, on unattainable, untenable future states is a keen defense against a multi-directional connection to others, to past and future, to ground and sky. It is easy to forget that there are many realities beyond our own experience. It is meant to be easy to forget. This is a deep deprivation that I am thinking, in this moment, contributes to shriveling exhaustion and despair.

3. I have been longing for a deeper relationship to my mother, not to her memory, but to Her - her essence, however it is that she exists now, beyond my experience and limited conception of death, dissolution, transmutation, or spirit. I panned around my room seeking a "mom" object, something connected to her to feel and hold in my hands, against my skin. From my seat my eyes couldn't find something quickly enough. And I barked a laugh and clapped my hands over my mouth as the snap of alignment came (hands, mouth) - I am it, I am the mom object. This living, breathing, moving body; everything I do and all that I am, living evidence of her. Right here even closer than touch, right here in me, so obvious as to be invisible.

4. She knew the magic of connection - to nature, to source, to something bigger. She embodied a longing for it. She was belittled for it. And she passed this aliveness of ever-increasing awe to me through her very cells, a living inheritance. I used to tell the story of my scythed awakening after her death as her final gift to me, mother to child: her eyes closed, and my eyes opened, aware suddenly of a deep misalignment between my longings and my choices. And here this is now, 20ish years later - another awakening. There is no final gift - here I am, a continuation. There is no final gift from her, I am the gift.

5. I wish for words to say this truly, how it feels - to not overstate or diminish this insight or its reverberation through this physical body. I am not her only child nor am I the only life she touched. There are living impacts of her care in many people and families and generations of plants. She had a whole life before and alongside partnering, gestating, mothering. And I have the incredible gift of not only being shaped by but made by (of) her.