Lucie… my mother… whose name means “bringer of light”… she was such a loving soul; everyone who met her loved her, except a few who found her scattered and hot-headed and emotional, and irritating for that… but she was the champion of life itself.
My dad taught me to strive for perfectionism, logic, truth… but my mom taught me it was okay to make mistakes. That we did not have to constantly erase. That we could screw up again and again and make something beautiful out of all that mud. That never, never was there a mistake we could not recover from.
To say sorry when we were wrong. Or even sometimes when we weren’t, if that helped love flow along. And that if we are sad, we should sing a quick song. To laugh through all our tears… to love onwards through the years.
She always, always fought for the underdog… if the underdog was poor, she would fight for them. If the poor shamed the rich, she would defend the highest-paid men.
She was a teacher, a giver, she taught in classrooms and at home… she made a home wherever she went. With all her art… and in music, and communications, most of her time was spent.
She knew five languages, and kept learning more… she’d let anyone at all in the door… unless they messed with her offspring. Then she might throttle them to the spiritual floor.
My mother, my mother… I can’t believe you’re gone. Yet I know you’re not, because I still sing your songs.
Thanks for all that you gave the world. There are not enough thanks to give.
In me, you’ve helped a tangled plant unfurl.