Dear Eric, Thank you for sharing what Planet Love was like, for the better and for the worst… I am left with many tears and the inspiration to explore the power of “consistent expressions of deep gratitude.” I had the blessing of meeting Charlie in 2004 or 5 during one of the summer intensives at Hollyhock… he left a beautiful and lasting imprint on my heart. I am moved by the depth of love you shared with each other, and grateful for the way it continues to ripple out through you.

Dear Gregg, Thank you for this beautiful invitation to notice and appreciate all that can go wrong in our days and lives but does not! Here in New Mexico where I am spending the summer, there are a lot of strikingly beautiful crosses (descansos) by the sides of roads and highways. These very colorful roadside memorials are always an impactful sight for me, reminding me to stay alert to the cars and lives around me, to not take my or their safety for granted. In 2009, I lost control of my car on a highway, and did two and a half 360s before crashing into the guard rail. For weeks afterwards, I was in an altered state, and nothing could undermine the profound gratitude I was experiencing for being still alive, completely uninjured… and for the fact that I miraculously did not harm any other cars as mine went spinning across both lanes. But that feeling wore off with the months and years, and I am realizing today that the challenge of returning to that place of profound gratitude for life, without the accident (or the hurricane!) is a challenge I really wish to take on.

Dear Sheila, Thank you for your touching comment. At the end of the book, Mole walks to the top of the hillside to thank Badger for what he taught him… “‘Thank you, Badger,’ he said softly, believing that Badger would hear him. And… somehow… Badger did.” I love that these are the book’s parting words because many of us have things that we wish we had said to our loved ones when they were still alive… and it can feel really, really good and healing to say those things to them anyway, believing, like Mole, that they can hear us “somehow.” There are important things that I only said to my mother after she died. And there are other things that I believe she wished she had said to me while she still could, and which I allowed myself to hear after she passed, in quiet moments of connecting with her essence in the silence of my own heart. And then there is also what you are doing, which is beautiful, which is appreciating and honoring what your parents gave you by embodying these gifts in how you live your life. This is gratitude in action. Best wishes to you, Tesa

Thank you for sharing your story, Missy. It always touches me deeply when I hear of people waiting for a particular person or event before they let go… On the night before my mother passed, her best friend asked me if it was possible she might still be waiting for someone to say good bye. She had been in a coma for 7 days by then, but still hanging on. The only person my sister and I could think of was someone who had been a great love of her life more than 20 years back. The two of them had stayed in touch over the years, but he had been unable to come say good bye because he was living pretty far away and was not in good health. We arranged for a Skype call with him that evening, right before leaving her for the night. She could not speak anymore, but we trusted she could still hear. He spoke very tender words to her, acknowledging their sweetest memories. She died at dawn the next morning. I can’t help thinking she waited for him, the same way your mother waited for your daughter’s wedding. And I agree with you that it’s really important to understand that not everyone wants someone (particularly their child) holding their hand or sitting by their side when they die. But some do, of course. My grand-mother asked for my mother as she felt herself near her last breath, and she died in her arms. That was a beautiful death too. We are all so different, and it’s really important to support or simply allow someone to leave their own way.

Dear Deb, I was deeply touched by your comment and wanted to add an important p.s. to what I wrote above to give a bit more context to the story, and keep things real. While my mother and I had a beautifully deep-hearted and intimate ending to our relationship, we were not always close like this. We too went through phases of estrangement, including a 15 year window of time during which I saw her very little, although for different reasons than what is keeping your daughter and you apart. It was not until she was diagnosed with a terminal illness that I managed to get past what had prompted me to put the Atlantic ocean between us. No one knows in advance what will happen to our heart when we realize we will lose someone who has been a significant part of our life. Sometimes the proximity of death gives us entirely new eyes. Realizing that my mother’s days were counted opened my heart in many of the places it had previously closed to her. The things that had been sources of conflicts suddenly stopped feeling so important in light of how little time we had left. Something like that could perhaps happen to your daughter one day, and maybe before you come to the point of facing death. Acceptance of a painful situation and giving up on a possibility are two very different things, and I wish you the strength to keep them distinct. Perhaps life will some day surprise you and bring renewed life and love in the painful places where you grieved deeply the loss of your dreams. Wishing you courage and emotional resilience in your difficult journey as a mother.