Next week, we’ll gather to celebrate my mom’s life.

For me, I’ve been putting together some videos. It’s been a powerful way to process everything. I wouldn’t say I’m particularly skilled when it comes to editing or organizing the photos and clips — honestly, my desktop and files are a bit of a mess.

But it means something to me to throw my heart into creating something that speaks to the life my mother lived.

She was so much more than just my mom. In working on this, I’ve learned so much more about her — through stories from family, friends, and colleagues, all sharing the ways she impacted their lives.

Her thing was Healing Touch — an energy-based practice that some might call woo or weird. But it wasn’t the practice itself that made her special (though, based on the stories, she clearly had some skills). What made her remarkable was the way she welcomed people in — the way she invited people to the table, so to speak.

I remember one summer at camp when I was a kid. We ate all our meals on the side porch — there were two tables: the Camp Directors’ table, and ours — the nurses’ table. Our table was always full of energy — loud, with debates, discussions, philosophies tossed about like frisbees. The Camp Directors’ table always seemed quieter, more formal, with reverence paid to whatever the Director said.

Was it just the difference between formal and informal? Transactional or relational? More backbone or more heart?

I don’t know.

But it felt different — the energy weaving, shaping, and shifting around us.

Maybe over her years as a nurse, instructor, and professor, she learned to lead while following — to stretch doctrine and medicine into something more like music and movement, something people could integrate into their own lives.

We had a gap in our relationship for about a decade. There were some differences in our stories — irreconcilable, at the time. That was painful. Honestly, I didn’t think we’d ever find our way back — our rhythms felt too different to make music together again.

But she did her own growing and learning during that time. And we found a way back to the table.

I know the things I shared rocked her world — and her understanding of our story. I wanted one of us to be “right.” But she didn’t get stuck in that right/wrong fight. She listened. She didn’t waste heartbeats on the battle I was expecting.

I know her heart hurt in that fracture. Mine did too.

But we weaved on and found a new way to relate.

And somewhere in all that, I came to understand — she was as dyslexic and non-linear as I am.

Her energy work — though different from mine — was a spiritual practice we both shared.

We rose above the battleground.

And I love her for that.

(I love me for that too.)

When I wrote Crazy, Cracked, Warm and Deep, I was trying to make sense of the chaos from my past — trying to find some kind of wholeness in the crazy. That writing was for me.

Now, as I work on these videos, I feel like I’m weaving something for her.

Not to fix anything, not to undo what was — but to honor it all. To stitch love and joy into the memory of who she was and who we became.

Now she’s gone.

And in making these videos, I find myself in touch with the guilt and shame of those old stories — the ones that caused so much ache.

But I also know I’m still weaving the pieces forward — still telling the story in a new way.

And I hope, wherever she is, she can feel the love and joy this has given me.