The whole scene is wildly familiar, so true to the genetics I’m coded with, I have to laugh. I’ve observed my Mom in this same scene time and time again:

I’m sitting at the kitchen table, which happens to also be my ‘office’.

There are piles of notebooks and papers stacked around my laptop, partially covering a gorgeous, red French tablecloth, and I have a hot cup of coffee close at hand.

The kitchen table office is wildly impractical, but somehow it works for me (and worked for her). It allows things to pile up and be dealt with, in times of creativity and productivity the piles get big. The tasks are completed, guests are scheduled to come over for dinner, and *woosh*… it’s all cleared away.

A blank slate, once again.

I didn’t plan to re-enact this scene on this particular morning, but it feels very right.

Two years ago today, my sweet Mama Jules took her last breath.

As I’ve written extensively about, grief takes many forms, faces, and energies. Today, I don’t feel particularly sad. I feel grateful, very, very grateful. I feel reverent of her, and her legacy. So many key parts of who I am I have learned from her. Her influence on my being and personality is so thorough and complete that I feel so very lucky to have had her as my role model. Although it was shorter than I would have liked, our time together was a true and lasting gift. I know that not everyone can say that about their Mom, and so I accept this feeling of fortune that is stamped on my heart.

I am fortunate.

Each morning when I make coffee for my Husband and I, I gaze up lovingly at the picture of my mom I have sitting aptly above the coffee station. She was the queen of coffee, drinking a full French press pot before 9 am. The grounds were always mixed with cardamom and cinnamon, creating a potent yet beautifully aromatic and flavorful brew. I would get jitters after a few sips of her brew, yet she seemed to only soar higher and higher after each cup, becoming the superhero Mom that I knew and adored.

She was known far and wide for a few things:

Firstly, her kindness and compassion. She was referred to most commonly as “an angel” long before she left her body. My friends in high school would come to her as a lap to cry on, she would stroke their hair as they cried and then bake them muffins or scones. She worried about each of my friends like they were her own daughters - in her heart, they were. Everyone she loved was family, and she would do anything and everything in her power to support them. She spent her twenties volunteering as a Guardian Ad Litem for foster children. She also taught art in prisons and was said to “have a gift” for connecting with the people in her class. She devoted many years to helping women leave households of domestic violence, and had a firey passion for women’s rights.

Secondly, a strong love for a few vices: coffee, dark chocolate, and red wine. Coffee in the morning, and a few squares of dark chocolate in the evenings, paired always with a glass or two of rich red wine. I often reflect on her habit of wine in the evenings, a habit I picked up for a while and can’t say I sought out for healthy reasons. Her life was often stressful, and she carried a lot of responsibility on her shoulders - I think her evening ritual helped take the edge off, so she could soften into gratitude and begin the next day fresh. She laughed and smiled with ease every evening, and always had room for one more at her dining table.

Thirdly, her cooking. If memory serves, we went out to eat maybe once or twice a year during my entire upbringing. Partially because it was out of the budget, but mostly because Mama Jules chef’d it up in the kitchen, every single night. She had binders upon binders filled with printed-out recipes, scribbled with notes and adaptations. She would find some new diet or health trend on the internet and decide to try it out for a while; my Dad would always compliment her sugar-free, gluten-free, dairy-free fad desserts like they were the best thing he ever ate. No matter what diet she was trying, she would always cook a separate dinner for me if she didn’t think I would like what she was making for herself. Until I graduated high school, she woke up at 6:30am every single morning and made me an elaborate packed lunch for school (there was a phase I thought I was gluten intolerant and she would make me gluten-free crepes, every morning). That level of devotion through food brings tears to my eyes, and I know for certain I am channeling that same devotion when I cook beautiful meals for my family and friends. I am so grateful to have absorbed the habit of sharing love through food from my sweet Mom.

There are many things I wish I could have asked my Mom, and endless stories of her life I long to hear. What were the foundational moments that formed you into this kind, loving, beautiful person? What are your biggest dreams? What were your hardest challenges? How are you so brave? How are you so selfless?

For as long as I can remember, I felt a deep desire to cheer her on and champion her. In my eyes, she was a heroine deeply deserving of a lavish vacation, a massage, fancy gifts, or simply a relaxing break from it all. When I became an adult with an income, I spoiled her in the way my young, superficial mind knew how. Once, I bought her a designer purse for her birthday, and she gushed over it, then wrapped it up neatly in the closet to save it for “special occasions” that never arose. There were many more moments like that until I grew up a bit, and understood her better.

The year that she passed away, I took her to Costa Rica, and we had an absolute blast. Seeing her childlike joy as she walked through the shoreline, mesmerized by it all, made me very, very happy. I remember we went to a lovely beach cafe, and a nice waiter brought her the biggest, most decadent drink with a tower of whipped cream and chocolate sauce on top. Her eyes got huge and she blushed, whispering afterward “I just asked for a latte with some chocolate in it, I didn’t know it was going to be like… this.” We locked eyes and burst out laughing, such an over-the-top, fancy drink was so out of character for her. Yet, seeing her with her sun hat on, cheeks flushed from the sun, relaxed to her core, sipping a humongous whipped cream drink felt so very right. She savored every drop of the drink and ordered it with pride each morning for the rest of the trip.

I vowed after that trip that I would take her everywhere she wanted to go before she died.

That vow didn’t have a chance to be made manifest, but in my heart, I know that our trip to the beaches of Costa Rica was deeply meaningful, and was just as it was meant to be.

Her childlike joy, strength, gratitude, and complete devotion to our family have formed me and continue to inspire me greatly. As time goes on, it seems like grief transforms from a cruel master to a benevolent teacher. Two years after her death, I feel her wisdom and the many teachings of her beautiful spirit more than ever. Each year, I find myself looking more and more like her, and I am grateful for that.

I was told in a psychic reading that I had my daughter, Alinah, so I could feel the depth of love that my Mom had for me. Death has taught me the full scope of Love, as we do not know how precious these relationships are until we have experienced the loss of them. I know that I am 10x more present, loving, and grateful for my Husband than I was before death became my teacher.

~

What better gift could a parent give their child, than the gift of understanding? Of presence, the true power of love, and the opportunity to become acquainted with the potent practice of gratitude.

When my Mom first died, I asked:

“How could you leave me?”

now, with time I say:

“Thank you, Mom, for teaching me”