Sassy ancestors

I've been surprised almost daily by how much Mom is still with us, here, seven weeks after her death. The men who tell us that our kindest, most generous and sassy ancestors leave us behind are wrong. Wow are they wrong. I almost wrote, "Dead wrong," but Mom thinks that sounds crass, which I had to look up because I wasn't fully sure what the word even meant. So, instead of writing an essay about the surprise of finding your ancestors still present with you after they die, I'd just like to share how this feels by sharing two poems. I wrote Hearth Fire in January 2015, and I wrote Sassy Ancestors yesterday in February 2026.

Because Mom lived with Alzheimer's disease somewhere between 22 and 25 years, depending on who you ask, we had a long time to make friends with Grief and Wonder and Magic together. This long goodbye was a deep, remarkable privilege—surfacing what matters most, pushing away and helping us let go of everything else, and radically changing us again and again, when we allowed ourselves to be changed. This new hello from sassy ancestors is something else entirely. So, here's our magic and wonder and grief and calling and legacy, all together. And here is us, today, somehow sassier than ever and still becoming magic together...

Hearth Fire

(2015)

Mom
I love the way you love
warm folding of laundry
soft fuzzy robes
drying dishes, the game of where
to put them
you rubbing my hands and feet
always present for me
here beyond memory

so let synapses misfire
let brains tinder the fire of smiling hearts

I thought Alzheimer’s was a fire burning away at us
until a predilection to leave the essential untouched
became infinitely obvious
burning away instead the noisy distance
that too-busy charade
our frustration, guilt, shame, regret, fear, anger, contempt
even sorrow
mine yours ours
until they fade into background:
dust bunnies, ember elves
shadow puppets
former selves

I was so then
so blind
Alzheimer’s is not a flame to burn us

We are the flame

We are the flame

We release demons
set them in boats
kick their sterns and cut their ropes

we set then adrift
here in the now

you become hearth fire
I become sky

at ease within all dis-ease

just us again
like always

giggling above the laundry

Sassy Ancestors 

(2026)

1.
Hey Mom,
Hi.
I love that you're still here.
That you held me within you
from the beginning until, well
I would have said until your end
this winter
except that you're still with us.
So, maybe I was wrong.
(Yes, wonders never cease.)
Maybe, you'll hold me within you
and walk beside us
until my end?
Or until some other ending?

Wow.
That's some serious cross-generational Jedi Master shit.

We're magic.

2.
Do others feel this way?
Hear this always gracious 
voice of belonging
from within?
And more than voice–
a constant loving presence
unwavering
playful
sometimes nosy, or silly
laughter on the breeze
and then just present
rubbing my feet
to soothe me
when I’m down.

I can hear you laughing now
with Grandma Del & Grandpa Bub
Uncle Mike
Grandma Grace & Grandpa Pete.
with Grandma Kane
and even with Grandpa Kane, who you and I
never got to meet in person
though we're intimately familiar
with his generous smile
from all the photos
and his love of laughter and
inclination to fight for justice
for neighbors
from Dad.
I can hear you all together, now
laughing.
I feel you all laughing now like I feel the forest here laughing.

3.
Though our grandmothers never left me
somehow I thought you'd go away when you died.
On to heaven or your next life
or greener pastures or to other places
wise men tell us
that we'll go.

The men are wrong.
Even the wise-ish men are wrong.
Not surprising, here.
And still
surprising.

How we love to be surprised,
you and I. 

4.
So, Mom
you didn’t go away–
you everywhere'd.
Make that, we everywhere'd.
You cracked a joke
about being free for coffee
as your spirit lifted
from your body
so we got to laugh and cry together
at the same time–
our favorite thing.
I noticed your face glowing.
You alone noticed mine.

You are love and you are here.
Somehow out beyond those final Alzheimer’s years
when your speech and singing were gone
and only your listening ears,
kind eyes, and laugh remained—
no.

All of you is here!
Well, not your body
but you know what I mean– all the rest of you.
And you're so much more
so much I’d forgotten…

Your wit and quickness.
Love of singing.
Mischievousness and full-body laughter.
Leaving or sending us surprise gifts– wow
you're out well beyond deep magic now.
Somehow
you're you at every age
everywhere and
right here
glowing within and around us.
As present as our beloved seashells,
bedding, recipes, photos, jewelry
and other artifacts of love 
you left us.

I can't believe how fast you moved
from your room in memory care
back into Dad's place.
We walked up the hill together.
You beat us all there.
Had definite opinions
about where to hang pictures.

Now I feel the breadth of your expertise–
in friendship & receiving
to be almost always generous
& loving–
you're so much kinder than I am! 
Far more trusting and accepting and ok with
people, dogs, and trees being their whole selves.
More inclined to laugh
more fluid. And
now as free and brave
as the wind and you and I
together
can be. 

5.
Why did we ever believe the men
who said
our kindest kin
our sassy ancestors
just
leave us?

What a total crock of shit!
(That line was all me.
Another thing you let me be, Mom,
stubbornly, at first
until I started
to agree.)

6.
You're fully here
and we can tell
because we can hear and tell your stories
feel your sparkle
feel you care
still find your gifts
and share them often
I'm already
so much kinder
than I was
in early December. 
I'm more open and trusting
that everyone will be themselves
and we'll often
just let them be– together
and still we’ll always 
make it through
smiling somehow
as us–
the real us–
listening, learning
sharing how we really feel
out loud
together.

Seven weeks
after you moved back
to Dad's place and to our place
and down to Jen's and Jo's
and back home to so many hearts
in South Dakota and Iowa
I’m becoming more fluid
more loving
more inclined to laugh.
Your abiding love of laughter?
That's in us now.
That's me now,
somehow.

Oh Dear God,
am I also going to
have to be bubbly? Ick.
Nope. 
That's not me.

7.
Thank you, Mom
for everything.

Thanks for being here
then
and now to
invite friends over
get us to the library
push me out the door
to sing and write and plot
with wise and loving beings the world over.
Thanks for the daily infusion
of acceptance and patience.
The daily reminders
that we have the power
to become heaven and earth and space herself together
to unmake and reimagine
ourselves, aka
everything.

Haven't we always been expanding ourselves together?
How lucky are we?

8.
We can die.

Yes, we can die
and still
we cannot lose
and
we do not leave
when we are love.

We cannot lose–
and
we
do
not
leave–
when we are love.

9.
So, here we are
together still
becoming sassy AF now–
like cats the world over, and
glorious cranky strutting roosters
love-wise fruit-drunk toddlers
gently unconfident/confident pre-teens
poets, musicians, and everyone else surprised by creation
beloved smiling-eyed elders too–
together
sassy ancestors.

We'll dance through
snow and wind and rain and fire
drought and floods
violence too
together,
even through death
together–
I am certain of that now.
Whoops.
Make that
we. We're certain of that now.
Sorry Mom/Grandparents/Uncle/Dogs/Cats/Forest/Sea.

We dance together here
and out beyond
this right now
so we notice
fully present
when smiles return and weapons fall.

We notice.
We're here.
We notice.

10.
We'll laugh/cry together
until someone present
– some wanna-be tough guy
finally done with all
violent delusions–
laughs so hard
they pee.

We'll be present
when even historians and story keepers
can't fully recall
why anyone present
ever felt the need for so much
weaponry and misery.

That's where we are now:
our people,
Mom,
and me.

Here.
Happy to be here beside you.
Nowhere else
we'd rather be.
All beloved laughter
friendship
weeping hearts and sass–
and zero crass
(thanks Mom)–
ancestor
energy.