Is it Ok to feel relief when you look into the eyes of your mother as she has just passed? The first words in my head were "Finally I'm free." I was 62. In my twenties, I ran from her bigotry, judgement, disdain and headed out west. My car broke down in the desert north of Phoenix, Arizona and I found a temporary home on an Arabian horse ranch. As soon as I got a job I moved into the city. One beautiful day I saw him walking toward his apartment. 6'2", eyes of blue, cowboy in all his youth and glory. I felt struck by lightning. I married this cowboy but the story isn't one of happily ever after. Seven years later I brought my baby daughter back to the place that had given me nightmares for years. My mother's house. I never stopped trying to be what I thought others wanted me to be. Depression, a shrink, meds, until I finally, for whatever marked that day, had had enough. I worked hard at finding the "me" inside and I did. The day my mother died I found myself. I left the stream of bad dates, sold her house, and moved to northern Michigan. The headaches slowly left. The "foggy brain" cleared and I found joy. There are endless stories about what brought me here. Only some wine and a campfire could get me to reveal all of them. I owe no one an apology now.
