Rest in Peace, Mom

Shirley Starr, 1937-2024

Friday morning, February 16 I got the news that my mother had died. Quite honestly I felt it more as a gift than a tragedy. For eleven years she has been confined to a Memory Unit as her Alzheimer’s progressed to a point that almost makes me wonder if God forgot about her. She was an avid hiker, cross-country skier and occasional biker. Part of my cycling ambition came from the 25-mile rides we would take together in the foothills of the. Colorado Rockies. In the end, it was clear that her body was stronger than her mind and it was painful to watch the mismatch in decline.

Yesterday, I published a blog about “Recovering My Voice.” The irony is not lost on me that just as I was beginning to use the discipline of Lent to recover the voice that went underground, my mom has died. So much of my struggle with feeling safe to speak my truth is rooted in the awkward and painful relationship she and I had over the years.

My sister, mom and me, 2023

I capture some of that in my book “Alone: A 4,000-Mile Search for Belonging.” Halfway through my bicycling adventure I stayed in my hometown of Loveland, Colorado, for three days hoping to reconnect with my mother after a 23-year estrangement. I called her hoping for a call back. It never came. Strangely enough, her Alzheimer’s became a gift for me. With her fading memory she couldn’t remember the reasons for our estrangement and I was able to reconnect (I use that world loosely with Alzheimer’s) during the last decade of her life.

Now that journey is over. She is released from the cruel confinement of Alzheimer’s. And I can begin the process of being grateful for the gifts of her life and grieving that which we never had.

May you rest in peace, Mom.

And keep those bicycle wheels turning. I’ll be riding up your way one of these days and will expect to pick up right where we left off!