Mothers Know Best
A Tribute to Honor My Mom
Dear friends,
I am sorry for my long silence.
On October 13, 2025, I lost my mom to her long battle with heart disease. I spent most of late September and October in Michigan, by her side at the hospital and supporting my stepdad, then again in November for her memorial service.
To say I am gutted, then and still, would be a wild understatement.
If you’ve read the prologue in Wilder Weather, you know how fundamental her words and her support were in my Wilder Weather origin story. She led me to the library for books about weather to empower me away from my fears, propelling me straight into the curiosity that led to my career. She led me to Laura Ingalls Wilder with a garage-sale copy of Little House on the Prairie for my first chapter book, certain that I’d like it even when I balked. She was right, as mothers usually are when they have their children’s best interest at heart. That I merged those passions into Wilder Weather is a direct result of my mother nurturing my curiosity and stoking the fires of my passion for learning.
If you attended LauraPalooza 2015 in Brookings or LauraPalooza 2017 in Springfield, you probably saw her. She was the tiny woman, pretty much Laura’s size, keeping my infant/preschool son entertained while I did my LIW Work (big W). In 2015, she popped in with him so I could nurse him, and she coaxed a funny video of his chubby-cheeked 6-month-old smile when she said the word “LauraPalooza” to him. Ever unselfish, she also tended to him back in the hotel so I could tend to LauraPalooza co-chair duties, eat, sing karaoke, and bond with my fellow LauraPalooza attendees.
In 2017, she led (or chased) an active two-and-a-half-year-old boy around the hotel lobby and nearby park with stones set in wading water. She joined me for meals, allowing my toddler’s stage debut as assistant moderator as I introduced Chris Czajka for his famous LauraPalooza lunch trivia. She adored the site visit to Mansfield, tickled by the cutout of life-size Laura and their comparable heights. She also got a kick out of the Baker Seed Company visit and listening to Pa’s fiddle. In her LauraPalooza visits, both she and my son charmed fellow attendees.
She survived a massive heart attack 21 years ago, one that could and should have taken her. She had a strong will to live so that she could be here for all of us in her family and watch her grandbabies grow (even the ones she didn’t know she’d have!). She was my touchstone, my safe place, my home, and losing her is not just heartbreaking - it changes everything in my world and my family’s world. I’m so very grateful for the 21 bonus years we had with her, that she got to meet and know and love my child, embrace my husband into the family, see me earn my PhD and publish a book. Her heart may have been damaged in the muscle, but it was the strongest and biggest heart for love that I’ve ever known.
I would never have been ready to lose her, but I did truly believe, right up until the end, that we’d have more time. She and I were very close, and her death has leveled me. I still often feel like I’m going through the motions of life but in a pool of sticky, thick, viscous maple syrup.
When Laura lost her mother, her desire to record the stories of her childhood thrummed inside her more loudly, more intensely. I am not there yet. I’m still choking on my words, corked like a champagne bottle with the top of the cork broken off and the rest of it out of reach. Writing, creating, imagining, even thinking has been snow, painful, or stalled altogether.
And thus, my feed has been quiet. She’d want me to keep right on charging along. Heck, she was trying to sell my books to her ICU nurses. She was ridiculously proud of me for achieving my dream of publishing Wilder Weather. I want to honor her by continuing to write and pursue this dream, and I hope that in time, I can nudge the cork loose and let out some of what has been under pressure inside.
It’ll take time, I know. My world will never be the same. I grieve her loss in so many ways, including for my son’s loss of his grandmother - or, to him, his Nonny. Grief is a tricky beast, one we have to learn how to live with and around from here forward.
When I would ask my mom what she wanted for her birthday or Christmas (they were very close together), when I was a child and beyond, she always answered the same thing: Peace on Earth. Not something I could deliver at any age, but she never stopped hoping for it. And when I think about what my mom stood for, nothing stands out stronger than her love, kindness, and compassion toward children - all children. Hers, her day care kids, and whatever kids were drawn to her at parks and stores and restaurants as she moved through life. Those vibes are what I want us all to draw on and hope we can remember in the future. Peace, love, kindness, and compassion, and the dignity of all humans.
And read a book.
Oh Barb, I’m so sorry. That’s so rough. Losing a parent we love is like we suddenly live on reclaimed marsh ground and there’s earthquakes everyday. Here if you need a hug!
May you find strength in your memories. That was a heartfelt tribute. Wishing you healing and comfort.