Tag Archive | beloved dead

Mary’s Playlist

Mary’s Playlist

All that we let in – Indigo Girls

Ancient Mother – Robert Gass and the Wings of Song

Heart to Heart – Cris Williamson

Sisters, now the meeting is over – Libana

Sister – Cris Williamson

I will be gentle with myself – Kate Marks

Deep Peace – Bill Douglas

Lullabye – Cris Williamson

The Last Watch – Stan Rogers

Turn, Turn, Turn – The Byrds

I’m already there – Lonestar

You’ll be in my heart – Kenny Loggins

Deep Peace – Libana

Women of our time – Judy Small

Seasons of love – Rent

May we dwell in the heart – Robert Gass and the Wings of Song

Bi Thus A Mo Shuile – Maire Brennan

Keep me in your heart – Warren Zevon

Caledonia – Dougie MacLean

Follow the Light – John McCutcheon

We are not alone – John McCutcheon

At the Moment – John McCutcheon

Amazed – Lonesta

I know that Mary loved some of these but these I’m finding comforting at the moment because they remind me of her.

A Samhain blessing and journey


This weekend was hard, it was beautiful, it was chaotic, it was terrifying, it was so painful and sometimes so loving it’s hard to describe.

Mary is gone now and off to whatever adventures we can’t follow on. She is no longer in pain but we are because she left a huge hole in our hearts.

She smiled at each of us before we sent her on her journey and I will treasure that smile for the rest of my life. I was honoured to spend time with her Friday just holding her hand and being with her. She was going in and out of being present but she knew I was there and that was enough.

Saturday we gathered the family and said our goodbyes. We decorated the altar and her bed. We covered her with her green cloak and the wings of Isis I brought along with BunniHoTep sitting on the end of the bed. It made her smile. We brought her favourite ritual tools and goddess images and the Brighid’s cross from the living room. She was surrounded with love and when we started the rite she was paying attention. Di, S, her step daughter, although I hate to call her step, she was her daughter and I did the rite that Caroline had written for us so beautifully. It was so hard to read it. I’m glad I wasn’t doing to alone. Denise had asked me to do it since she knew she couldn’t and I was supposed to do it alone originally since we had no idea that the others would come but they did.

It’s one thing to priestess for a stranger or someone you don’t know well but for someone you consider your sister, it’s sooo hard. Mary, Denise and I began the Grove together with Laura. We’ve taken every step along the path together from Grove creation to Companion to Bard and then to Druid and finally, Arch Druidess. Along the way we added our sister Diana who is now our Bard and we have Companions in the Grove but for the three of us, it was our dream and we created it together. You don’t get to create many dreams with people you love so much and I’m so lucky that we did.

It was a gift to do the rite and it was a gift to sing her way home to the Summerlands. Talking later after it was over we all saw the same thing but from different angles. I know I saw Laura and Lady Olivia reach out to her and take her hands and then she was gone. It took a small interval that felt like an eternity for her body to stop fighting to breathe but we all knew the instant she was gone and her body was no longer the Mary we loved but an empty vessel.

So on that holiest of days of the Druid calendar, Mary passed from our sight. We will be together again. We’ve all been together many times. We will play together and sing together. We will have ritual together and who knows maybe we will create other Groves together. But the love will always remain and the love will always bind us together. All we need to do is follow the ribbons of love that bind our hearts together. For only love remains.


Grief is the price of love and I will pay it

Sometimes I have to remember that I wouldn’t grieve if I didn’t love

Grief is the price of loving

Sometimes the price seems awfully high

And at the time when grief hurts the most

The price can be beyond what I want to pay

The price of being alive and awake to love

It’s the price we pay for being here

It’s the price for being able to wish on stars

It’s the price for seeing your love reflected in another’s eyes

It’s a price paid in hugs and smiles

It’s a price paid in tears and priceless words

It’s a price paid in the pain of losing and the pain of loss

I thank the Goddess for gifts of friendship

I thank the Goddess reflected in the faces of those I love

I thank the Goddess for grieving even in the midst of pain

Because it means I love.

Kat 2014

Beloved Dead


My grandmother, Nola and my Uncle Frank

Today’s Beloved Dead is the grandmother I never got to meet. She died after getting the Spanish Flu after her youngest son was born. I wish I could have met her and if she had lived my father would have been a much different person. After she died, my grandfather left to build the Panama Canal and the kids were raised by my great-grandmother who was totally unfit to raise them in my opinion. She beat the shit out of my dad and when he broke his wrist driving a pony cart he didn’t have permission to drive, she refused to let his other grandfather set it and it gave him a good deal of pain the rest of his life.

The other reason I would want her around would have been to talk to her, to find out about her father. Family stories say her father was a Native American, He had to have been adopted and when I’ve done research he appears in the first census as Tomas and then as an adult, Thomas. The story about him was that he would not talk about himself or where he had come from just that he was some sort of Native American. Dad thought he was half Native American and Thomas’ father allegedly had 10 children and it wouldn’t have been that hard to sneak one in with that many children. And the records at one point list him as being born “around 1858” but no exact date. At that point on history, Native Americans in Illinois and Kentucky were treated very badly and I suspect he was passing when he got into Iowa Medical School and became a doctor.  His mother was said to be the first white girl born in the county.

Anyway, my dad had a profile like an Indian head nickel, beak and all but he had no idea what tribe his grandfather would have belonged to and I know that drove him a little nuts because he knew the genealogy of the Robbs back before immigration in 1723.

When I went to camp the first time, the camp was a Church camp that was named Indian Village and they did teach a lot of Native customs such as bead work and bead weaving. I loved learning that. I can still do it. Every afternoon we had story telling that first year with a gentleman that said he was a Kiowa chief and he used to show us the bulletholes in his leg from where he had been shot early in his life, before he learned the white father’s religion. It was the only year he was there. He was weathered and the best description I can apply to him from my childhood memories was he was he felt like earth.

This is also the week I heard the tree talk to me and this week went a long way to setting me on a pagan path. So much for Church camp.  https://elfkat.wordpress.com/2013/11/09/the-tree-and-the-girl-2/

One afternoon, I was sitting listening to him and he stopped his story and looked at me. He just stared and then he asked me what tribe I belonged to, I have no idea why he would ask a strawberry blonde, whiter than milk kid that question but he did. He told me he knew I was of his people and nodded to me and that was that. It was never mentioned again. All my friends wanted to know why he had done that because he hadn’t talked individually to anyone else and as far as I know he never did that week because it got around that he had talked to me.

I was 9 and dad had just been telling us what he knew about his grandfather so I said I didn’t know. I was nine and I remember going home at the end of the week and telling dad and dad just told me again, he didn’t know.

I’ve always been very careful not to take anything from Native cultures because I wasn’t raised in the context of those cultures. My spirituality is mainly Celtic and Norse based because of my mom being half and half and the rest of dad’s heritage is Scottish but sometimes I long to know more of that part of my DNA but it isn’t mine to know in this life.