in the wee hours of the morning 22 years ago today, the Ides of March, my mom left her tired body. after seven years of a rollercoaster ride of hope and despair, and lingering for a month in hospital as she waited for a liver transplant which never came, she took one last look at those of us gathered around her bed and quietly slipped away. she was the same age as i am now.

as this this memorial day has been approaching, i’ve been going through the last remaining box of papers from her short life. honestly, it’s been a kind of revelation. in reading things i’d never taken the time to look at in all these years, i’m finding myself still surprised by things i’d never known about her. and, as i come to the end of hours of reading, sorting, saving and releasing, i find myself relieved yet restless. it’s almost as though her restless mind and heart have somehow come back to haunt me. as though our spirits have merged somehow - a gentle reminder that i am, indeed, her daughter.

all of this discovery has revealed something i hadn’t really grasped until now. that, for better or worse, in many ways i am not at all unlike this very complex woman. as a matter of fact, on a fundamental level we’re nearly twins. she was a hungry, untamed spirit, always seeking more connection, more depth, more exposure, more realness from herself, her relationships and the world. she was full of an overwhelming love of live and an exuberant appreciation for all things big and small. she also carried her fair share of pain, depression, anxiety, creative bursts of art, music and poetry some would call manic and deep questioning - of everything. not. unlike. myself.

reading through numerous pages of journal entries (and letters which seemed to serve a similar purpose) and an entire folder of intricately drawn doodles (on everything from meeting notes to napkins) from as far back as her late teens, it felt as if her mind struggled to be still. she repeated themes over and over like she was, as i often find myself doing, trying to wrestle some sense out of this labyrinthine rubber band ball of human existence in words and phrases. like she was seeking, but rarely finding, some sort of resolution or equanimity. it was eerily like watching my own mind on a movie screen. whether on the daily, weekly or moment-to-moment, her mental and emotional world a mirror-like reflection of my own.

amidst all that, between desire and longing, hope and fantasy, i also know, like me, she deeply craved and needed quiet and solitude. that, like me, her relationship with the more-than-human world was undoubtedly an anchor for her, especially in the moments when she needed some solace from all the pain she felt in herself, others and the world. as an empath and Highly Sensitive Person, i’ve told myself a story that i was raised by a mother who wasn’t, and that my chronic lifelong people-pleasing was my way of coping with that difference. but now i’m coming to see that this was not at all the case. in fact, although outwardly she often expressed herself in ways in which i stood by and watched in awe (and sometimes silently cringed at), inside she was so much more like me than i had ever realized. she struggled in so many ways like i do.

as i’ve been approaching this significant anniversary, i’ve been feeling a need to understand more about why am the way i am. perhaps it has something to do with turning 60. perhaps it has to do with facing down the fear i’ve carried these last 22 years of dying young like she did and leaving behind my own potential mess of papers, business and inner dialogue. so i’ve been doing a deeper dive into my own mental and emotional idiosyncrasies to do my best to uncover the patterns which have plagued me throughout my life, some of which i inherited from her.

truth be told, it was not always easy being her only child. for decades i focused more on the pain i experienced in our relationship than the blessings. but i realize now that, for too long, i have allowed that focus to taint the beauty which others saw in her so readily. a beauty which was real and good. i’m working through memories of the ways she unwittingly injured my sensitive heart. but more and more, as i also work on healing our ancestral lineage, i see that it was not her fault. it was passed down from her mother and her mother’s mother, in an intergenerational cycle of women doing their best to be mothers and women in a crazy patriarchal system.

in so many ways, it was wonderful to be her daughter. in reading these pages, i’m reminded of how very strong, courageous and tenacious she was. i’m remembering how, as a single mother, she stood up for me over and over, and how very much she sacrificed to create a beautiful life for us. i received some of life’s most essential gifts from her. she taught me about the joy of living in the moment and never losing connection with my irrepressible inner child. she taught me to listen to and honor my inner wisdom and to respect the more-than-human world. in so many ways, she taught me more than i may ever really appreciate and, in the end, i am eternally grateful to have had the privilege of having her as my mom.

thank you, mom, for being one of my greatest teachers. i love you. i miss you.

a sweet painting my son made a few years before she passed which i found in her files. feels like a foretelling.

To Sawyer

mom in her last days with her newborn grand-nephew. scattered on top of the photo are a few of the hundreds of 4-leaf clovers she found

Please don’t let me burden you too much
With my need to find a savior
For all the deeds we’ve done
The messes we’ve made

It isn’t as if I wanted the world
To be this way when you arrive
All chewed up and aging
With the follys of our humanness

I would like to have shown you
Clean rivers, green forests and
Animals unafraid of extinction
Humans who lived in peace

the memorial altar friends and neighbors set up in front of the meadow at Love Creek Ranch the day mom died.

It’s not your fault that we will
Have to look harder
Dig deeper and travel wider
To see what could have been

Your innocence is real
Your being new and fresh
Your presence brings promise
And light and possibilities

But please, don’t tell let me
Push you too hard
For the answers that we
Wouldn’t let ourselves find

Enjoy your days little one
Savor your loving family
Grasp the wild moments
Run with the wind at your back

Don’t think too ill of us
For the remaining bits and pieces
Of a world still beautiful
Still magical, because you are now here

Wendy, January 23, 2001

i found this cartoon she had saved since 1972… it says so much

if you enjoyed reading this blog, please consider supporting my work by becoming a Patron. thank you!

remembering my mom, Wendy Lou Alford (1940 - 2001)