Monthly Archives: November 2023

The Lost Traveler and her Wahine

My eye has been twitching and hip hurting since early August, but I had my “VBFQ” (very busy fourth quarter – 4 fun trips in a row) to look forward to, so I ignored what my body was telling me.  Then my 90-year-old Mom passed away gently in her sleep. Although her passing wasn’t exactly unexpected, it’s true that nothing prepares you once you become an orphan in this world.

“For in grief, nothing ‘stays put.’ One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs.  Round and round.  Everything repeats.  Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral?But if a spiral, am I going up or down it?

How often – will it be for always? – how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, ‘I never realized my loss till this moment?’ The same leg is cut off time after time.”

C. S. Lewis, “A Grief Observed”

This loop of forgetting then surrendering to the sudden and shattering memory of what has happened – the loss of my Mother – is my current existence.  I don’t know if this is normal, but several times a day, with no warning, I will experience what feels like a punch in the gut from Grief, and I will utter, “Mommy!” like I did as a child to summon her comfort.  The moment doesn’t last more than a few seconds – and I am able to return to whatever activity I was doing without much difficulty – but C. S. Lewis is right – “the death of a beloved is an amputation.”  I have to learn to walk in this world anew without her.

A few things really help soothe this pain.  1.  Puppy hugs (I recently adopted a new puppy whose presence in my home is like a steady source of dopamine); 2. A healthy routine (e.g., boring adherence to the basics:  enough rest, water, exercise, sunshine, good nutrition, conversations with family); 3.  Old friends – the ones I grew up with who knew my Mother best. Hearing kind words about my Mom and retelling familiar stories from my early days is of great comfort. Simply being in the presence of my oldest friends, I have found to be enormously healing.  

I am lucky to have a few such friends I have known since birth.  And each one reached out to me in my pain immediately to offer comfort, kindness and reminders of the great person my Mom was.   By sheer coincidence (or maybe not?), my oldest friend, Missy, and I had plans to spend a week together this Fall on her island paradise, Maui.  Missy gave me a chance to opt out of our plans until “a better time.”  It really felt like the perfect time to be in her presence.  After all, our Mothers were close friends and our Fathers were the very best of friends.  Between our 2 families there were 15 children, and we all grew up together.  Lots of comfort and familiarity awaited me. Exactly one month after losing Mom, I boarded a plane and headed off to the unknown.  I am not a good traveler nor am I particularly curious about “unexplored” places.  Wanderlust is not something that drives me.  But quiet companionship and a few reminders of who I really am, during this time when I feel so lost, is definitely what drove me to pack my bags and visit Missy.

When I arrived, she was hiding behind a wall with a fresh plumeria lei to welcome me.  I later learned the plumeria flower represents birth, love, spring and new beginnings.  In Buddhist culture, the plumeria represents immortality, because the tree will bloom even if it is uprooted.  Immediately, I felt like it had been the right decision to seek adventure with my old friend instead of staying home and hiding under the covers like I wanted. This could be a time of new birth. She kept using this Hawaiian word, “Wahine,” which literally translates to woman.  I learned it can also be a term of endearment for one’s closest female friends.


Every morning began with at least two hours of relaxing outside on her terrace overlooking a sumptuous garden with the sea in the background. In the background, the sounds of tropical birds I have never heard before, beckoning old friends to start the day in one another’s company, just enjoying the moment.  That’s what I enjoyed and appreciated most about our time together – there was no “daily agenda,” it was as slow-paced and relaxed as could be.  I knew there were many things on the island I would not venture out to see and this was fine with me.  I needed to move slowly, and Missy understood this. On those quiet early mornings happily tucked into her backyard paradise, my oldest friend Missy reminded me of several things and thus helped me heal the wounds broken open by Mom’s passing.  

In no particular order, here are the things my “Wahine” (Hawaiian for woman/friend) helped me to see and in her way re-ignited my spark for life:

I look great in red lipstick – Missy was surprised to see a more “subdued” look after years of sporting the brightest red lipstick I could find. When I told her several makeup artists scolded me due to it’s “aging effect,” she said that was bulls*** and I should go back to what I love (so I have);

I will publish my writing one day – One of her favorite publications has been on my “most wanted” list for years – she’s confident she’ll see my name in it one day;

No matter how broken I believe the world is today, there are many things in my life worth celebrating – a great family, health, sobriety, and friendships that have lasted decades for starters;

I am not alone in my sobriety (nothing tests your sobriety like loss – my dog of 11 years passed 12 days after Mom) – Missy decided before I even arrived to practice “Sober October” – more than anything else, THIS is what brought me to tears. Not that I am close to a relapse after everything that has happened. It simply felt like a major show of support and solidarity when my oldest friend on this earth quietly decided to join me sans alcohol for a bit.

The timing of the Universe can be perplexing and mysterious, especially when one feels like She is lobbing pain on top of pain for no reason.  It felt so good to surrender to the cosmic invitation to meet my old friend in my pain, on her beautiful island, and just sit quietly together drinking coffee for several days.  My pain subsided a little and our friendship grew a lot. It turns out I  traveled 4,000 miles to feel like I was right at home. Thank you, Wahine, for the gift of your time and presence when I needed it most.

In Gratitude for My Brave Momma

My Mom was a character. Funny, outspoken, warm and talented in many ways. You never forgot her even if you met her only briefly. There are many adjectives you could use to describe her. She raised me so I consider myself somewhat experienced in my ability to choose the adjective that best describes her: Brave. She faced adversity with courage, dignity and humor. And she wasn’t a quitter, either. She had a mental toughness I can only aspire to. This chilly Fall morning, a mere 8 weeks after her passing, I miss her so terribly but am thankful to have a deep well of experiences from which to draw upon her many acts of bravery.

This photo, for example, represents my first inkling that I had a brave Momma. It is the morning of my 8th grade graduation and it had been a hard year for our family. Only 46 and seeing the completion of her child-raising years, Mom convinced Dad to uproot from our family farm in Southern Missouri and relocate to St. Louis, Missouri, where my sister and I would attend one of the state’s highest ranked private Catholic secondary schools and live at home. This was brave on many fronts. Mom was ready to enjoy her second act exploring her personal interests. She was getting restless on the farm and wanted the rest of her life to have meaning. Reluctantly, my Dad agreed and we sold our beautiful home in the middle of a soybean field and headed to the big city. While Mom definitely had the class, experience and social skills to navigate our family through this vastly foreign terrain, what mattered most was her bravery, because there were many moments when it all just seemed too difficult for many us.

I didn’t realize this 13 years ago, but I applied the many things I learned watching Mom through those years to my own family when we made a similar move from the country to the city. I wanted to help my children achieve their own sense of personal belonging in a new place without losing their identity as my Mom had helped me do 40 years earlier. As a parent, when you change from having the home that kids flocked to during the summer and on weekends to adapting to the crazy intense competitive “helicopter parenting” in the city, the pressure can bring you to your knees. My Mom stayed strong and never lost herself during those wild teenage years of mine in the big city. While I tried to emulate her in my own experience, I definitely got lost many times because I’m not as brave as she. But I always had the gift of her example to draw upon.

As Mom grew older, she faced frightening health challenges that ultimately rendered her bedridden. The brave and strong woman who always led the way in our family was suddenly vulnerable and dependent on others for care. It was almost too painful to acknowledge at times. Especially as I watched the changes from a distance, raising my own family and charting my own “second act” as she had so gracefully done decades before. Mom managed the bedridden decade with dignity, grace and enormous bravery. Only last year, as her 90th birthday approached and she was putting her life in perspective, she said to me, “This is my life and I have to live it.” Acceptance is the ultimate form of bravery. She showed all of us that strength literally means submitting to one’s circumstances and making the best of what you have. Mom had the ability to use her mind as a place to escape to and create her reality. During times when other people could not see a path forward for themselves, my Mother declared to me she intended to live the life she had been given. I am still overwhelmed with love and admiration.

The last time I entered Mom’s beautiful pink room, instead of finding her there, big blue eyes and soothing voice, happy to see me, I found a single red rose where she used to lay. The red rose symbolizes beauty, love and courage. It perfectly represented my Mom. Her example of bravery sustains me. She saw her journey, rife with challenges, through to completion, and I am most humbled and grateful. Stepping forward into my last decades, I carry my Mom with me, and hopefully more than a little of her feisty spirit. She showed me that I can face anything. I only wish I didn’t have to do it without her.

As my six siblings and I prepare to bid farewell to both our parents back on the family farm soon, I will be thinking of their strength and love. And when I feel sad, I’ll play my Mom’s favorite love song, Rod Stewart’s “You’re in my Heart,” and think of her dancing in her kitchen. I’ll remember she will be in my heart and in my soul, and hopefully she tucked in a little bravery.