The passing of Joan Didion coincides with the 1 year anniversary of my mother’s death. I first discovered Joan Didion, and her book, Slouching Towards Bethlehem, when I moved to the west coast in 1996. I spent time in San Francisco in my early twenties, as a young woman finding herself, discovering the world, and found Joan Didion’s writing so grounding as I entered into my new life in California as an emerging adult, with much to ponder and much to prove. She was California, she knew California, and she so eloquently painted a picture of the culture of California. Reading her words made me feel I was on her personal journey, and hopeful that I would meld into myself in this new state so very far from home. 

Fast forward to Paris, France, where my husband and I lived for several years from 2005-2007, and reading Didion’s book, The Year of Magical Thinking. That book moved my heart. It opened me up to the concept of grief, and would become incredibly relevant as I traversed life’s trials and tribulations in loss and grief. I’ve lost many friends along the way, but last year, at age 49, I lost my mom.

My mom, my first home, my tether to this earth. Losing my mom was more difficult than I could have ever imagined, and yet it came at a time when I was most grounded. I’ve been married for 21 years, happily, and have two older children, ages 12 and 18. We have a beautiful life in the Redwoods, north of San Francisco. I moved from the east coast, and far from my mother, many lifetimes ago now, but that bond, despite its ups and downs, was the most consistent relationship I ever had. We text every day. Talked weekly. She came to visit often. I lived with her until I was 27. We endured an extremely difficult home life with where we suffered from abuse; we fought and caused pain to one another as we healed, but we always came back together.

And when she found out she was dying of pancreatic cancer last December, I knew I would care for her in her final days. Which I did, with support from Hospice, and my oldest brother. It felt like an honor and we did it with a wide open heart, despite the emotional pain and anxiety. It was sacred and difficult, yet somehow natural. I’ll carry that memory with me forever, just as I’ll carry my mother with me forever. Deep in my heart. Deep in my being. Forever and always.