Good morning, spring and birds and the cool breeze on bare feet. Good morning, Sunday and my porch, strong coffee in an antique cup. Good morning, books and watercolor paint to keep me rooted here until the yard work can no longer be hushed.
It was my first Sunday morning of the year on my porch. Dishes in the sink. A bed unmade. The filling of a destroyed dog toy scattered all over the first floor. The yoga garden in need of raking and sweeping and seeding. But life is short. First warm Sundays on my porch come but once a year. This glorious March morning light is fleeting. Sunshine and reading and art were calling, and I listened.
Six months ago I would have done my chores first and then rewarded myself with porch time, missing the morning light and quiet. But my yoga study has made me wise. I now tend first to my heart and then to tasks that can wait. Three and a half hours later, my spirit nurtured, I will turn my attention to my to-do list with ease and mindfulness.
Breathe the soothing fresh spring air, good folks. Listen to the birds. Take notice of all that is budding. Read on a porch. Paint by a window. It’s a time of rebirth for our earth, and it could be a rebirth for you, too, if you welcome it at the door.
Namaste.
P.S. the final pic is Ruby, my squirrel friend, who ate her morning peanuts right at my feet, while I enjoyed my coffee.
Time has not healed my heart from the loss of Mackenzie. Acceptance did not soothe my spirit from the pain of her absence. Family and friends and dogs are some days no remedy whatsoever for my yearning for her freckled face, her silly jokes, and her unflappable ease. Work, writing, and art have not filled the void she left. Six years of therapy has not ended my grief. My daily practice of yoga and meditation has not altered my status as a bereaved mother.
But
Yet
Despite the limitations of all these remedies, and because of them, I can sit still in the presence of Mack’s absence and my grief. Even on her birthday. I can hold all the pain and all the longing and still be present in my life and live on for Mack, for Savannah, and for me.
Because
Time keeps teaching me how to tend to a fragile heart. Acceptance is the license for my spirit to keep on marching forward. Family and friends and dogs remind me every day that a broken heart and a shattered spirit can still know love and joy and connection to things beyond the self. Work, writing, and art give me purpose. Therapy offers me perspective and dispassionately guides my emotional and mental well-being. My daily practice of yoga and meditation has shown me that bereaved mother is not the entirety of my being and that I can choose to suffer or not suffer and that Mack would be so sad to know that I have suffered.
Time, acceptance, family, friends, dogs, work, writing, art, therapy, yoga, and meditation have nourished my body, mind, and spirit in beautiful and different ways. They have each tended to my tender heart. They have made me resilient and courageous, qualities that have healed my suffering. I know now that I need to be soft as well as strong. That bending is not weakness. To feel my pain is to be able to witness the pain of others. That life is hard. That to be open-hearted might break you but that being open-hearted is the only way to travel this terrifying, beautiful human journey.
Mack knew all of this. She was only twenty, but she knew.
And now I know what she knew, and I am free. Not free of missing her. Not free of the pain of my grief. Rather I am free to miss her, free to feel the pain of my grief however I need to, and also free to live a joyful life that would make her proud. She would be so happy to know that her once stressed-out, hard-nosed, unhappy momma bear is finally content.
On this Mack Day, what would have been my remarkable daughter’s 32nd birthday, I am grateful for her. I am grateful for time and acceptance as well as my yoga and meditation practice. I am grateful for a cozy house and a comfortable life with access to therapy and yoga classes. I am so damned lucky in family and friends and dogs. I am grateful for the peaceful life I have painstakingly curated and for intellectually stimulating work and a creative life that keeps me challenged. I am grateful to have made it to 59, through more than eleven years now without Mack. I am grateful to still be learning and growing while at the same time content with where I am and who I am right now.
I am a different woman than I was before my life was shattered in October 2014. Better in many ways. Softer and more tolerant. Less hard on myself and less bitter about the world. I like myself so much more than I ever did before Mack died. It is hard to know that surviving trauma with grace results in an improved human being on the other side. I would do anything to have avoided that trauma, and if it was within my power I would take Mack back in a second and give up my evolution. I would always choose her over me. Alas, I must simply be grateful that Mack’s spirit inspired me to survive my terrible loss by choosing the light in me instead of the darkness.
Mack was ever the light. So as long as there are Mack Days as well as ordinary Tuesdays, and as long as there is breath in my body, I will endeavor to keep choosing the light.
On Mack Day it is easier on my heart to remember Mack as a kid. She loved having a St. Patrick’s Day birthday and embraced the leprechaun inside of her. The photo of Mack dressed for Halloween is one of my favorites. The watercolor painting above I’ve posted before, but I think it captures the dancing light of Mack’s spirit as I knew it and see it now.
Studying yoga is teaching me to let go, to stop clinging to the past, to acknowledge but also to release old versions of myself. This mixed-media self-portrait is the first of a series I am calling Past Lives, representing identities that served me and shaped me, but no longer rule me nor define my inner peace. Through Svadhyaya (Sanskrit for self-study), I am doing the hard work of finding and speaking my personal truth.
I was a Lincoln scholar for thirty years, I edited his papers, wrote a biography of his wife, appeared in documentaries, served on boards, and delivered dozens of lectures and speeches. Studying Lincoln paid the bills, provided my growing family with health insurance, and allowed me to collect some of the best people. Studying Lincoln was a joy and a privilege.
Yet being a woman in Lincoln studies was not easy. I was unwelcome. My focus on the women in Lincoln’s life and my defense of his wife Mary Lincoln sometimes made me a pariah. There were painful experiences during my tenure as a Lincoln scholar and, in the end, when the Papers of Abraham Lincoln fell apart, it was devastating.
I have no regrets about any of it, because all of my experiences led to the publication of Loving Lincoln: A Personal History of the Women Who Shaped Lincoln’s Life and Legacy. Published in 2025 by SIU Press, it blurs the boundaries of biography and memoir, history and personal history. It was written straight out of my heart, the most creative project I ever accomplished and some of the best writing I’ve ever done. All of my experiences in Lincoln studies made the writing of such a creative work possible, and I am grateful for all of it. I am the woman and scholar I am today because of my imperfect professional relationship with Lincoln studies and my inspirational relationship with Abraham Lincoln, the second coolest American hero.
However, as I work to release my true self, live in the moment, and face a different future than I previously imagined, I need to let go. Now that I have published my book on Abraham Lincoln and given voice to my unique perspective of his life and his legacy, I am ready to move on, to turn my entire professional attention to Jane Addams, the coolest American hero.
More shedding to come, more identities to process and to release. More art and more writing, too. And, most importantly perhaps, more grace.
Being Mack's Momma Bear 