Madeline Joan Snyder (nee Chapman), aka Joanie, Aunt Joan, Mimi (to her adoring grandkids). I called her Mom as soon as she taught me to speak, and sing, and write, and act silly af. She adopted me at 8 weeks old in February of 1966. Not sure which she loved more: the written word (she taught HS English); or singing (she sang in choir, in community theatre and Madrigals, and produced and directed high school musicals in her first job out of college, teaching in Johnstown, PA.
She shared her passions with her family. I carried my taciturn father's last name, UT I was my mother's son. I was her Sunshine, and she told me many times before she died this year at 89 that I had saved her life. I'll never know exactly how, but she said it with deepest conviction and love.
Her last words to me were, "I like your haircut." We fought many battles over the length of my hair in the 70s and 80s. Nature finally decided on the current length. She had a sparkle in her eye when she said that. She died the following day, with my sisters and I holding her hands.
Oh she was spit and vinegar, too, but her heart accommodated everyone she ever met.
I sprinkled her ashes all over the small coalmining town town she grew up in and loved; like a grim pixie, I was. It's a ghost town now, anyway.
Thanks for teaching me to live joyfully and open hearted.
Mike, the details here are delicious. This line: Her last words to me were,"I like your haircut" could be the first line of a personal essay. Thank you for introducing us to Joanie. And now you are keeping her legacy alive in sharing this story.
I buried my husband's ashes today, lovingly placed in an unglazed urn created by Jane, a potter friend. Tip-touching Heuchera leaves encircle a modest quartz stone that marks the end of life otherwise hidden within a native plant garden designed for him. There, underneath the beauty of a ginkgo tree I planted years ago, the red clay will dissolve into the brown soil as will his ephemeral ashes. Tom wanted to be here, to be a forever part Homefields: the people, the homes, the Care Farm, the nonprofit he co-founded and created decades ago. The gingko's fan shaped green leaves will soon turn golden and create a luminous yellow blanket as they fall to earth. He and I can be together this way, my leaves touching and covering his ashes, as he melds into this one place on earth that reflects the values and dedication of this very good man, my Tom. Kim, your words which I embrace could not have come at a more needed and important moment.
Linda, a vibration coursed through me as I read your words. I am so touched that you shared this still-fresh experience in this space. The spot under the ginkgo tree sounds like the beginning of a beautiful and fertile next chapter. May he rest easy, and may you take especially good care.
Oh Kim, such a resonant piece. I find In my 50s I’ve started the process of collecting names in a list, to hold on to them. The deaths expected and greatly unexpected. Today I’m thinking of my friend Nancy with the booming rock and roll pipes, my father in law Cliff, and Violet our editorial “grandmother”. May they find peace.
Oh this got me in the feels and couldn’t hold back the tears when I got to Kim R, I called her Mama Ricketts. I still can’t believe she isn’t here.
Thinking today about my mom who passed suddenly 2 years ago, 13 days after I moved to PA from ID. I still haven’t processed it. I got my love of nature and plants from her and it’s why I took the risk to move out here, to pursue working with plants in some way shape or form. She was a prolific fiber artist and I took up knitting after her passing as a way to soothe my heart and a way to keep her memory alive in my day to day.
Thinking about my friend Kathryn, raspy voice, boisterous personality, best laugh ever. She left us one year ago at only 33.
And my Starrla, dearest friend from college who had the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known, funny, witty, thoughtful.
Also thinking about the many pets, both mine and my mom’s that we lost in the past few years…Maddie, my first dog and just last year Abigail, the three of us were together for 14 years. Missing my soul kitty Norman who I lost Jan 1st this year. Spook, JJ, Harley and Buddy too, my menagerie of my rescued fur-kids. And Mom’s pets who I loved like my own, Toby, KT and Bailey.
The last four years have mostly been defined by all the losses above. A lot of the time I try not to think about it so grief doesn’t swallow me whole but while I write this crying, I’m glad to have had a nudge to think of them all and what they meant to me, so thank you ❤️
"The month of November is an awesome month and did you know? [I am SURE you know!]
November 1st All Saints Day and 2nd All Souls Day, the portal between the living and loved ones who have passed is open, allowing for direct contact and communication. It is a time of remembrance and celebration of life and less about sadness and grief. This tradition has its roots in Mesoamerican indigenous cosmovision where death is viewed as a part of the natural cycle of life. This belief system is not rooted in the western mentality of good and bad, rather in the duality found in nature which embodies balance." as posted by one of my indigenous lady friends on FB.
Karla, found a great piece in LA Times on Day of the Dead. Speaks to part of what I love about it -- the melding I referred to is syncretism, a new word for me.
Fascinating read… my dear friend Xico Garza in Ca. runs an authentic danza group which always has the offerings — they’re displayed in the design of four directions, a very important concept to Aztec and other indigenous peoples. The offerings are displayed as a work of art. Very beautiful expression of appreciation for our existence.
Elsa Leedom Pancoast Taylor
Elsa Pauline Bonsall Pancoast
Seth Ellsworth Pancoast, Sr.
Seth Ellsworth Pancoast, Jr.
Roberta Jean Kelly Smith
Howard Smith
Arsen Santighian
That you wrote this when it's most needed is just that hand helping when we last expect it. Thank you.
Alison, I'm so glad this resonates. Take good care of yourself.
Madeline Joan Snyder (nee Chapman), aka Joanie, Aunt Joan, Mimi (to her adoring grandkids). I called her Mom as soon as she taught me to speak, and sing, and write, and act silly af. She adopted me at 8 weeks old in February of 1966. Not sure which she loved more: the written word (she taught HS English); or singing (she sang in choir, in community theatre and Madrigals, and produced and directed high school musicals in her first job out of college, teaching in Johnstown, PA.
She shared her passions with her family. I carried my taciturn father's last name, UT I was my mother's son. I was her Sunshine, and she told me many times before she died this year at 89 that I had saved her life. I'll never know exactly how, but she said it with deepest conviction and love.
Her last words to me were, "I like your haircut." We fought many battles over the length of my hair in the 70s and 80s. Nature finally decided on the current length. She had a sparkle in her eye when she said that. She died the following day, with my sisters and I holding her hands.
Oh she was spit and vinegar, too, but her heart accommodated everyone she ever met.
I sprinkled her ashes all over the small coalmining town town she grew up in and loved; like a grim pixie, I was. It's a ghost town now, anyway.
Thanks for teaching me to live joyfully and open hearted.
I love you, Mom. RIP
Mike, the details here are delicious. This line: Her last words to me were,"I like your haircut" could be the first line of a personal essay. Thank you for introducing us to Joanie. And now you are keeping her legacy alive in sharing this story.
Thanks, Kim! Sorry about the typos.
I buried my husband's ashes today, lovingly placed in an unglazed urn created by Jane, a potter friend. Tip-touching Heuchera leaves encircle a modest quartz stone that marks the end of life otherwise hidden within a native plant garden designed for him. There, underneath the beauty of a ginkgo tree I planted years ago, the red clay will dissolve into the brown soil as will his ephemeral ashes. Tom wanted to be here, to be a forever part Homefields: the people, the homes, the Care Farm, the nonprofit he co-founded and created decades ago. The gingko's fan shaped green leaves will soon turn golden and create a luminous yellow blanket as they fall to earth. He and I can be together this way, my leaves touching and covering his ashes, as he melds into this one place on earth that reflects the values and dedication of this very good man, my Tom. Kim, your words which I embrace could not have come at a more needed and important moment.
Linda, a vibration coursed through me as I read your words. I am so touched that you shared this still-fresh experience in this space. The spot under the ginkgo tree sounds like the beginning of a beautiful and fertile next chapter. May he rest easy, and may you take especially good care.
Oh Kim, such a resonant piece. I find In my 50s I’ve started the process of collecting names in a list, to hold on to them. The deaths expected and greatly unexpected. Today I’m thinking of my friend Nancy with the booming rock and roll pipes, my father in law Cliff, and Violet our editorial “grandmother”. May they find peace.
Margit, thank you. I too have a list. There's something so potent about writing their names here, on a list, in your own work.
Oh this got me in the feels and couldn’t hold back the tears when I got to Kim R, I called her Mama Ricketts. I still can’t believe she isn’t here.
Thinking today about my mom who passed suddenly 2 years ago, 13 days after I moved to PA from ID. I still haven’t processed it. I got my love of nature and plants from her and it’s why I took the risk to move out here, to pursue working with plants in some way shape or form. She was a prolific fiber artist and I took up knitting after her passing as a way to soothe my heart and a way to keep her memory alive in my day to day.
Thinking about my friend Kathryn, raspy voice, boisterous personality, best laugh ever. She left us one year ago at only 33.
And my Starrla, dearest friend from college who had the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known, funny, witty, thoughtful.
Also thinking about the many pets, both mine and my mom’s that we lost in the past few years…Maddie, my first dog and just last year Abigail, the three of us were together for 14 years. Missing my soul kitty Norman who I lost Jan 1st this year. Spook, JJ, Harley and Buddy too, my menagerie of my rescued fur-kids. And Mom’s pets who I loved like my own, Toby, KT and Bailey.
The last four years have mostly been defined by all the losses above. A lot of the time I try not to think about it so grief doesn’t swallow me whole but while I write this crying, I’m glad to have had a nudge to think of them all and what they meant to me, so thank you ❤️
Oh Carrie, thank you so much for sharing. This is beautiful. You've said their names. They will never be forgotten because of you.
I am thinking of my beloved daughter Sara today, a master of stacking rings who always had a smile for everyone she met.
Here's to Sara. May she be at peace.
"The month of November is an awesome month and did you know? [I am SURE you know!]
November 1st All Saints Day and 2nd All Souls Day, the portal between the living and loved ones who have passed is open, allowing for direct contact and communication. It is a time of remembrance and celebration of life and less about sadness and grief. This tradition has its roots in Mesoamerican indigenous cosmovision where death is viewed as a part of the natural cycle of life. This belief system is not rooted in the western mentality of good and bad, rather in the duality found in nature which embodies balance." as posted by one of my indigenous lady friends on FB.
Karla, found a great piece in LA Times on Day of the Dead. Speaks to part of what I love about it -- the melding I referred to is syncretism, a new word for me.
https://www.latimes.com/food/story/2021-10-28/day-of-the-dead-food
Fascinating read… my dear friend Xico Garza in Ca. runs an authentic danza group which always has the offerings — they’re displayed in the design of four directions, a very important concept to Aztec and other indigenous peoples. The offerings are displayed as a work of art. Very beautiful expression of appreciation for our existence.
So prescient Kim. Thank you for all these words. Put together with skill and care.
Thanks, Cyn. I'm glad it resonated.