She died the month I was going to start my first yoga teacher training. It was a time where I was struggling hard in silence. I was in a marriage I knew needed to end, but I wouldn’t speak those words for close to two more years.
I am the only child of her only daughter. Growing up I knew there was something special about that. I’m grateful she knew Makai as a baby and I will forever cherish those moments of our four generations of beautiful souls who share more than the same middle name.
She was a fiercely elegant woman and thinking of that always makes me giggle. I’m not sure she ever owned
a pair of sweatpants. As a kid, I always remember her nighttime attire. She wore her “house heels” and this beautiful silk robe she brought back from her many travels. To me, she was magic.
I remarried a month ago in Santa Barbara and I was greeted with a hummingbird every morning. That’s how she visits me now. My mom, Makai and I wore her jewelry and carried her crystal adorned clutches for the day. Her elegance filled the air.
Over the years I have mourned the loss of her physical presence and the conversations I never got to have. One of them being the end of my first marriage and then the incredible finding of love again. When the tears get heavy I always hear her voice stronger and I know exactly what she would have said. “Oh honey, life is too short to walk on eggshells. Now, go on and get the life you want.” Her silk robe now hangs in my closet and though it isn’t possible, I think it still smells like her. I wore it on my honeymoon and took it for a dance in the gardens. She reminds me often to get up a little earlier to enjoy the quiet morning, never leave the house without a good lipstick, hold your family close and claim the life that brings joy.