A year ago, my mother lost her battle with leukemia. And that was just a week after I learned I had lupus.

It was a devastating blow to me and my family to be sure. But I’ve tried to focus on the enormous positive impact she had on my life, instead of her absence from it.

I mean, she was a Reincarnationist after all, Reader. Death was just the start of another new journey in her eyes.

And so, this one’s for you, Mom, and all the wonderfulness you brought to my life.

Despite everything, I’ve been lucky. In a world where not everyone’s family is accepting of their choices or differences, my mom was always an advocate for me. Especially when I was too young to advocate for myself.

When my kindergarten teacher suggested a “special school” would be a better learning environment for me, Mom moved me to a school across town for neurodiverse children. One of the first of its kind in the SF Bay Area.

Thinking back on it now, I shudder at what my life would have been like in a regular elementary school. 😳 Would they have realized when I was 8 that I couldn’t actually read? Or like so many dyslexics, would I have just been labeled as “stupid” or a “bad student”?

Mom didn’t stand for that. She always fought for me. For learning resources, like a tutor, so I wouldn’t be held back. So I wouldn’t be punished for being different.

But reading was never easy. It was like traveling through thick, swampy mud carrying half your body weight in supplies.

Remember now, these letters make these sounds. And sometimes they make these other sounds. And sometimes they make these illogical sounds because we stole them from French. 😵‍💫

My mother used to read to us nearly every day. (Except on Wednesdays, when she’d go to her church group and me, my little brother, and our dad would play Indiana Jones or Monkey Island.)

There were trips to the library for story time puppet shows, and excursions to weird New Age book shops. She read us Seuss and Narnia, and the parts of Joan Grant’s Reincarnationist novels that weren’t too “adult” for a child.

We adopted the neighborhood cat. Had pet mice and hutch rabbits named after spices. We grew snap peas, carrots, and strawberries in the backyard. Sure, Silicon Valley is the tech capital of the US now. But back then, Santa Clara still had orchards and corn fields in the middle of town.

She’d carve our apples into swans and make Boo Boo bunnies when we got hurt. Mom would take us to museums and cultural festivals. Street fairs and cathedrals.

Mom wanted us—wanted me—to have every opportunity she didn’t have growing up in the hot Mojave Desert. To be in musicals. To be a dancer. To go to art school. To become a storyteller.

And I did. I did all those things and more.

Because she believed I could.

Because she made me believe I could.

Because I can.

So, Reader, if you still have someone special like this in your life, give them a hug for me. Because you never know…

Your cohort in storytelling,

Kat Vancil

🐱

PS 👉 In anime they always seem to be carving apples into rabbits for those in hospital, but my mom made us apple swans instead.

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Defying Resistance by Frantzces Lys You can read all the books. Do all the healing. Know exactly what needs to change. And still feel stuck. I’ve been a therapist for over 20 years. After grief cracked everything open, I left the U.S. and began a nomadic journey through 25+ countries. I thought I was starting over, but the patterns I hadn’t faced kept following me. Eventually, running turned into listening. Grief became growth. What felt like hesitation revealed something deeper, a part of me that didn’t feel ready yet. Now I help people who are tired of hesitating, overthinking, or holding back. Not because they don’t know what to do, but because something deeper still needs tending. What I share here helped me move forward when I didn’t think I could. Maybe it will meet you there too. Subscribe​

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