Heart-ened by One Who Knew How to Hold Space

This is generally a poetry blog, but I've been inspired to write any number of poems about my mom and inspired to write by her encouragement for many years.  

My mom left us in 2006 after making it almost five years following an ovarian cancer diagnosis. (She might have had better chances if the first doctor hadn't sent her home and told her to come back in 6 months if she was still having the problem she reported and the second hadn't told her she could afford to wait 6 months when the CA125 test was negative--clearly unreliable. That second doctor said, "I learned something," after my mother's seven-hour surgery.)
She died February 10 and We buried her on Valentine's Day--13 years ago. My mom was one of the strongest women I know, and I'm fairly sure I have never met anyone as positive as she was. She'd always wanted to go to college, but that was deferred until she was in her 50's. She was finishing both her Bachelor's and her Master's in Texas while I was finishing my Master's at the University of Iowa. She was so interested in things, in knowing things or learning things, but she also was very interested in people.
I googled her. Only her obituary shows up. She doesn't need a google presence for me to remember that she never said "no, I can't," that she loved working puzzles (most of my family did, actually), something she did quite a bit during her cancer years, and that she never met a day without a smile. 

This article, What It Really Means to Hold Space for Someone, resurfaced on Facebook.  I know a number of people who know how to "hold space." I hope you are lucky enough to know more than one of those people. 

Leaving this poem here.  My mother held space with her light.


luminosity
noun  \ˌlü-mə-ˈnä-sətē\ the quality of shining or of being illustrious; of being notably or brilliantly outstanding because of dignity or achievements or actions
 

Light Leaped in Her 

           --for my mother     
​                                                                                     
When nearby factories
heaved             smoke-grey   
corkscrews
into an ash-spackled sky
 
she saw              
only the young girls
           in a schoolyard
nearby
fidget          twirl
and rustle     skirts
of pearl-pink crinoline
their cheeks
heat-tinged
their palms clasped
one to the next.
 
All darkness     acquiesced.
 
She heard    
only     the music
of girl-toes
in patent leather.
Inhaled     
their splash of pink.
  
She smelled incense
of flowering plum
long before the petals
peeled back
 
drank in spring’s    
avalanche
of white magnolia.
 
I can testify her light
razed dark.
 
Even on days
when my light runs cold
           still her light leaps.      
 
Spring never fails
to rise  
all white heat    lusty
tiny shoots     stud
the snow-blind earth.