“So, I guess I’m sharing this because if there are people you miss, I want you to know it’s okay if you miss them for the rest of your life, it’s okay to talk about it, and, practically speaking, there are little things that you can do that might help you process some of your grief, however imperfectly or incomplete.” — Mads, Nov 2021

Mads would message me recordings of herself reading poems to brighten my day. She’d sing a full throated birthday song for loved ones every year. She gave massive hugs, would insist you take clothes from her closet (always fabulous), and could deeply discuss systemic injustice and throw a joyful dance party with equal finesse. Mads loved without reservation, without limitation, and with her whole heart.

I will love her forever and miss her immensely. Sending my sincerest condolences to her family and other members of her beloved community. 

So many memories of Mads have been coming up over these past weeks. But this one hit me today:

When Mads was first taking care of Turtle, Mads looked at the pile of baby washcloths I'd made by cutting up an old towel, a moment of recognition and revelation swept over her, her eyes got real big and she shouted: "WE'VE BEEN LIED TO BY THE WASHCLOTH INDUSTRY!!!" 

I loved the way Mads was always reflecting on how to get in deeper alignment between values and practice. Mads was intense and intentional and so strong willed and direct and funny and loving and creative and generous and I loved her. 

We all loved her. 

Remembering you-thinking about you. It isn't just one moment or one story. I can feel myself in different parts of your home. Sitting on the same chair in the study/library even though there was an empty couch, snuggling up in bed to watch TV, possibly in your mom's room? stumbling over the masses of clothes on the ground in your closet, greeting your dad in his office at the far end of your first floor every time I arrived, sitting out of gym class together because it was 'goth' day (something you would absolutely not approve of now) running up to your room from the pool leading a path of dripping water up the spiral stairwell, you making the worlds most incredible tuna melt at the end of a night out. I can see every crevice and detail of your bedroom-the piles of magazines, the shelving of makeup, the random artifacts from costumes and parties, your bathroom, door typically closed for you to use your mirror on the back. It was a place we laughed, we sang, we danced, we hid, we drank, we slept, we gossiped, we fought, we cried and we consoled one another. This young adult period of our lives was so small in the scheme of life, but yet has the strongest imprint. Due to trauma, our lives separated. Fast forward. You wrote me in 2019. I couldn't get myself to respond until 2020. I found that e-mail today. "Now here we are in 2020 amidst a global pandemic and what will hopefully be a life changing time of history for the Black Lives Matter movement. I still follow you on Insta and FB. And although we haven't been in contact, what it has done is reminded me what an intelligent, smart, educated, honest, open, clever, sarcastic and funny person you are. I remember you used to say things to me and use words that I honestly had no idea what they meant. You were strong willed. Had strong opinions. You also had a big heart and were a really good friend. I brought home my scrap book and found the rap that you wrote me in high school. "cuz I got my girl Ali and damn she's good.""

I can't speak to the woman that you became these past 10 years, the friendships you made, the imprints you had on every person you met but what I can do is share the memories of the younger you. I will never forget you. Maddiemoose and Alibear.

Sending love, condolences and prayers to Molly, Jake and the rest of her family.