Jaclyn Cohen (she/her)
The Giant Redwood
“For my beautiful flower with the strength of a Giant Redwood”. These are the last words that my mother Sheila ever wrote to me. The note is written in her hand in a birthday card shared after a beautiful family dinner. It is among my most treasured possessions. Five days later Sheila would suffer a catastrophic fall that left her unable to move or to breathe on her own. I often reflect on her words knowing now that not only were they a loving show of support, they were a war cry. How did she know that so many years later I’d need the reminder? Did she know that being a Redwood was genetic?
For almost four years after her fall, Sheila suffered every moment of every day. Was it a blessing or a curse that she survived that fall? Was having her alive to talk with and visit worth her excruciating experience? I will continue this debate in my mind forever. What I do know is that my mothers strength, her power, her clarity of thought despite circumstances that would crush even the strongest among us cannot be forgotten. Sheila was the original Giant Redwood. While she taught me many important lessons, I will be eternally grateful that even in the most vulnerable of situations Sheila actually showed me how to be strong, showed me how to advocate, modeled how to push through all the “no’s” and “not possibles” and proved that defeating the odds is always on the table. What I couldn’t have known at the time, is that my unborn baby girl was also learning these lessons.
I was three months pregnant when my mom fell. A time that should have been blissful and full of joy was fraught with sadness, fear, anxiety and immense stress. Doctors worried about the “environment” for my growing baby girl and warned that it would most certainly have a negative impact on her growth and development. I was terrified. Sheila however was not the least bit shaken. From her bed, not able to move or breathe without the help of a ventilator, my mother looked me in the eyes and demanded that I not listen to the fear mongering. Sheila told me in no uncertain terms that the doctors didn’t know the truth that she knew: our baby girl would not be sickly. In fact, she told me, our baby girl would be a powerful force of nature. I listened to her words, and in that moment I knew in my heart that I was growing a giant redwood inside my own body.
Over the past year and a half we have all been tested in new and sometimes difficult ways. The pandemic has left us lonely, exposed and reflective. Isolation sparked new challenges, and for many it was a breeding ground of crisis. My home was no exception. My heart ached as I witnessed life come to a screeching halt for my now teenaged girl. I stood by helplessly as she tread water trying to keep positive and healthy. I thought I was paying attention, but like many parents I missed some important clues. It will take a lot of work, and time, to forgive myself for not seeing what was right under my nose.
Early in the pandemic before we were isolating completely, I let my girl spend time with some friends. That fateful night will always be a benchmark for the beginning of a spiral that took my girl into the darkness. A close friend violated her trust and her personal space. His behavior shook her to the core. What started as a healthy routine to gain some control of her world birthed a demon that eventually possessed my sweet girl. She fought the demon until its voice was louder than hers, and before I knew it she was silenced. On her behalf, I went into battle with this demon and it proved a tireless foe. The voice was sneaky and manipulative, and stronger than any enemy I had ever known or imagined. I fought back with the vigilance that only a mother scared for her child can understand.
Experts offered advice and guidance. It came as no surprise when, just like Sheila, my daughter looked me in the eye and told me not to listen to them. She told me that she would fight this demon, and it would be her way and on her terms. Each day I witness my girls’ voice getting louder. Each day she advocates, she fights and she proves that defeating the odds is always on the table.
In good times and in bad, I wish I had Sheila with me for guidance and support. There is a type of broken heart that being a motherless mother brings, and it is brutal. I take comfort in noticing the similarities of spirit that exist between my mother and my daughter, each of them traveling journeys that require a fierceness that could only come from inside one’s soul. I am inspired by my girl’s power and fortitude. I am humbled by a beautiful flower, with the strength of a giant redwood.
