I’ve been without my mom for several years now and each Mother’s Day offers a fresh glimpse to my relationship with grief. My mother passed in the month of July so I had almost of a full year to emotionally prepare for the day in which we honor the women that give us life. In so many ways, that Mother’s Day passed relatively normally. I had found my own therapy by way of collecting flowers and was well on my way to acceptance. I would wonder the yard inspired by sticks and petals, picking them up as I paced. It was much like a moving mantra. Just something mindless and comforting but not really sure why… Eventually, I found my mother. Dead for less than year at that point yet proving to me she was very much alive. She was in the dried petals falling from her favorite orchids outside, and salvaging those bits of nature, even thought they were withered, helped me feel connected to her. She had been a florist, one of the best in Broward, and with every leaf and petal I’d find hidden in the grass, I started to understand her appreciation for flora. The colors and textures were mesmerizing. Each uniquely beautiful and thriving in the face of my grief…

If you spend enough time in nature you’ll notice that time doesn’t necessarily heal. Storms blow through and take out trees and gardens with with little regard to how you might treasure them. Nature is the sound reminder that some wounds never heal. Trauma can extend beyond repair and it’s unfortunate that we comfort ourselves with antidotes rather than concur that death is fundamental. And just as we celebrate the joy of new life, we should also hold space for the delicacy of what’s been lost. There is more to grief than a funeral. For many of us, a funeral is just the beginning of an intimate relationship with the deceased. Perhaps this all sounds a bit too morbid but finding the beauty in what remains of the dead flowers in our yard has been my antidote for life after death. She’s still here…

She’s still here, she’s still here, she’s still here! But she’s not… And fast forward a few years and the longing for a hug from my mom, the person to tell me everything will be ok, even as the world falls apart, amounts to a painfully silent echo “you must be your own guide”.

We make jokes about “adulting” but the truth is you remain a child so long as a parent can provide you council. That voice of reason, even when irrational, telling you not to travel to X location because it’s “not safe”, or cautioning you about a bad bank loan or a relationship, or the pragmatic suggestion you become a lawyer rather than a musician… That voice, with all its irritations and one sided perspectives is still a voice that’s looking out for your best interest. That parental concern is in YOUR best interest, regardless of whether the advice is what you want to hear. But at some point, that voice is gone and you realize that every relationship you have, not matter how genuine, will never carry the concerns that one’s parent held for it’s child. Even with the best of intentions, it’s still not the same, and nestled within those moments is when grief pays a visit. A reminder that each step forward is solitary and each decision is merely a guess, and the best you can hope for is that you are doing things right.

This year feels especially tough to not have a mom (and made crueler without a dad). The world feel dangerous with uncertainty and I can’t help but wonder if I’m making smart decisions. Am I doing this right? Am I being responsible? Should I sell the house? Is it safe to go back to work? Is it safe to go back out to sea? Am I OK? Should I be afraid?

The truth is, I am afraid. The world has turn wild and unpredictable and going it alone feels scary. “You must be your own guide… be your own guide…be your own guide…” The echo remains. The only comfort I find is accepting that my own life is ephemeral. I look to nature and all her beautiful dead flowers and remind myself that “we too, shall pass”…

This year I only made one Mother’s Day Box of Mother Earth. I carved a coffee scoop from salvaged wood and I nestled it into a dried sugar pumpkin that I preserved and then painted the inside. I then packed the pumpkin with dried flowers that I curated with care; a gift I know my own mother would treasure.

I’m thinking of all of you with mom’s that have left us too soon. Below is a little reminder of where they are now. Take love!

April shower’s don’t always bring May flowers, or so I’ve been reminded with the passing of Mother’s Day...

It started out harmless enough. On the Wednesday before, I went to the bank running routine errands and as I was leaving, the clerk wished me “Happy Mother’s Day!” Boom! Just like that, I was triggered. First of all, it was Wednesday, approximately four days too early.

Slowdown tiger… Let’s take things a day at a time…

But then I started the dark spiral into how inappropriate it felt to assume we are all celebrating. I am not a mother, nor do I have my own mother to celebrate the day with, and the blatant cheeriness dripping from the clerk’s chin, all about had me ready to turn around and release the Mother of Dragons at her for making such a careless mistake.

… DRACARYS!!!

Somehow the words “you too” found their way out of my mouth and I left without torching the place. But then, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I felt the next several days build with enthusiasm for mom’s everywhere. But I also felt the communal outcry for the bereaved. What that bank clerk neglected, the village provided, and for all the hater’s of social media it would be a shame to dismiss the macro moment of holding space for all of those that have been touched by the institution of motherhood. Being a mother or having a mother makes little difference. The gift of motherhood is ubiquitous and the internet honored them all! My irritation simmered as the larger community reflected a broader sense consciousness and that got me reflecting on my snap judgement of the bank clerk. It seems we were no different, her and I. Both of us, projecting assumptions onto the other. That I would be celebrating Mother’s Day, and she’d be more “woke” and guarded with words… Ugh… I’m ashamed at my own presumption. When a gesture of kindness turns into a source of frustration, it should be a clue that the problem isn’t them; it’s you!

As much as I think I’ve moved on from my mother’s passing, this incident exposed just how raw loss can be, even years later. I’ve heard that moving forward from grief doesn’t mean life eventually returns to “normal”. Instead, we carry the grief with us, heavier by way of holding an emotional weight that only becomes lighter when love lifts us. I’m learning that it’s sometimes impossible to keep a heart from breaking and no amount of glue can restore a shattered one to whole. But loss finds forward traction with love from friends and family, and community members that gather those shards and carry what they can as an emotional service. Humanity and all of its kindness, keeps the burden of pain from being a solo voyage. A village can help shoulder heaviness which is why we need to promote togetherness at all cost. Cue the Full Moon Baking Club…

Communities need work. The growing amount of division among us is concerning but in my experience, baked goods have always had a way of bringing folks together. It’s far from a fix but it’s a start, and if we hope to repair communities we need to disrupt the flow towards isolation and provide opportunities for joyful assembly. This month I invite you to make this recipe, compliments of King Arthur Flour, with the intention to gather, be together and share moments that will spawn memories. We can build relationships and cultivate inclusive environments that proactively combat feelings of “otherness”. And since there are many folks that daily are excluded from the simple pleasure of enjoying food due to allergies, intolerances, and other dietary restrictions, I’m thinking of them this month with this flourless recipe. For all those gluten-free folks battling celiac or gluten intolerance, take a night off from grieving your loss of tasty baked goods, with this cookie recipe. They are delicious and I applaud King Arthur Flour for thinking outside their own box. Cause even the flourless crave flowers… Open your heart by opening your oven door and let cookies be the floodgate in which kindness flows. Happy full moon my friends!

Holding you in heart,

Ashley

Ingredients

1 cup smooth peanut butter
3/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
pinch of salt
1 large egg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup chocolate chips or mini chips

Directions

Preheat the oven to 350°F.
Beat the peanut butter, sugar, baking soda, and salt at medium speed of your mixer, until well-blended.
Add the egg and vanilla, and blend on low-medium speed until incorporated.
Stir in the chocolate chips.
Scoop the dough by the tablespoonful onto a baking sheet and push the top of the dough to flatten just slightly.
Bake the cookies for 8 to 10 minutes. Remove them from the oven, and cool right on the pan. The tops should be slightly crinkled and you will want to pull them BEFORE they begin to brown on the edges.

* For the original recipe click here.