Day Eighty: My Pilgrimage to the Golden State

"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, but love leaves a memory that no one can steal." ~author Unknown

The day my mother found out she was being transferred from the North Carolina division of R.J. Reynolds to the one in San Fransisco to work with Del Monte, she came to me and said she wanted me to move with her. I was ten and California seemed as far away as the moon. I adamantly refused to go, telling her I'd run away if she tried to make me. The memories of the horrifying year I lived with her in Texas were still a fresh wound and I was terrified that no one would be close enough to save me if Mama dropped the proverbial parenting ball...and I knew that she would. Taking care of herself was difficult enough. Taking care of a child was a task that was nearly impossible for her. Looking back, I know now that she was trying to do right by me. She was just too broken, herself, to manage it.

When she got on that plane to leave, I swear I thought I'd never see her again, so it was wonderful to visit her that next summer and see that she was happy and thriving. She'd been there a year and the "City by the Bay" had warmly embraced the pretty North Carolina girl who charmed almost everyone she met and drew them in with her soulful, damaged grace. Man, that lady had a gypsy soul, never really settling in one place but leaving glowing little pieces of herself everywhere she went. She'd fuss at me if she saw all the "touristy" places I've written in my little travel book to visit. Those are the places, however, I remember her taking me when I was there so many years ago. Those are the places where I'll collect up the light she left behind and take it into my own soul for safe-keeping. The club where she used to sing isn't there anymore (I looked for it), otherwise it would certainly be on my list. It's okay, though, because her song is still in my heart and I have no doubt I'll hear it strong and clear when I step foot on California soul.

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