My Mommy

My mommy.  If you get my newsletter, you saw her picture before reading this.  The resemblance is remarkable.  I look like her, I move like her, I have her mannerisms, I have her fabulousness she wasn't allowed to be. 

Kathryn Elaine Hagan Revell.  She died when I was almost 10.  I don't remember her very clearly.  I remember small things.  I remember us riding bikes around the neighborhood together.  I remember her sorting laundry and letting me help.  I remember that she LOVED Willie Nelson's Red-Headed Stranger (maybe that's why I absolutely adore him) and The soundtrack from "The Star is Born" (it's actually a phenomenal album!).  Everyone, Everyone, Everyone that knew her said she was the sweetest, most tender, loving, soft, faith-full and feminine woman they had ever known.  I was also told that she died because she was too sweet for this world, she didn't understand how people could be like that...I've also always known that she was very unhappy in her marriage and back then, women just didn't leave their marriages, no matter what, especially in Houston, Texas!  I also know that she was big and fabulous (I have added a picture to this blog

of her in a full length red leather coat, who wore a long full length red leather coat in the 70s in Houston?!  Nobody.) and not allowed to be (in any way, shape or form) and that kills a person's spirit, period.  She had breast cancer, evidently a very aggressive form of it, and back in 1979, they had no idea how to treat breast cancer...the Body sickness energetic people say that breast cancer is anger.  She died pretty much 6 months to the day that she went into the hospital.  I do remember that she was paralyzed on half of her body and disfigured and very drugged from the morphine.  I had huge guilt, until around age 16, that I never told her one more time I loved her because she was extremely scary for a small child to see. I told my father that when I was 16, he told me I was wrong, that I had told her I did and I hugged her.  It lifted a weight off of my heart and it makes me happy right now.

I went to a Movement Arts Festival with my 2 shaman practitioner friends Melanie Leithauser and Daniel Donovan (The magical duo.  They do their work together and it is beyond so powerful.  I want that with my man.)  yesterday.  I originally thought it was because I wanted to do a presentation to do my work.  It wasn't.  It was to do a Shamanic Breathwork Journey with them.  Right before we began, the women next to me in circle, whom had recently lost her mother, thanked me for being there because I reminded her of her mother, who was vibrant and full of life and amazing and just who she was, always.  Wow.  What a gift to me.  Then My mother was with me in my journey yesterday.  Melanie and Daniel do their work connected to a "soundtrack" of music and sounds specifically engineered to take everyBody on a journey through the Chakras.  I was totally aware the entire time that no matter which Chakra we were on (and I sensed each one, it was wild), my first chakra wanted to be connected to the earth the entire time.  Rooted, Grounded, Embodied. 

At one point, I had this absolute understanding that I was doing the work that I am doing in this life for myself for her as well.  I've been told this many times, but yesterday, I KNEW it within myself, wasn't told it from outside of me.   "I miss you" came up in me, which my mind always thinks is ridiculous because I never really had her, but my heart and soul know it isn't ridiculous.  I let myself just be in the knowing, the feeling, not going into the pushing it away with the thinking at all.  She's been with me a lot lately.  A lot.  Came to me loud and CLEAR yesterday that everything I am healing in this life is healing for her also.  The irony that today is Mother's Day dawned on me last night.  Energetics of life are interesting sometimes.

I love you Mommy.  I'm grateful I got to tell you that one last time.   I miss you.   Thank you for downloading your sweet sweet Queen heart and soul into me.  It and You have served me well to have that core underneath everything else that has happened in my life along the way.  Thank you.     I miss you.