For the Mama (Patreon)

Friends -- this is the lightly enriched text of the newsletter I sent to my list today. Thank you for your support during Mother's journey. I'm grateful for you.

Be well xotg

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As autumn settles in, I find myself holding both grief and gratitude in equal measure. My mother passed on September 21, and though my heart is heavy, I carry her with me. She was my first audience, my fiercest champion, and a quiet, firm, guiding presence informing so much of who I am. It was an honor to play and sing at her bedside over the last week of her life.

Brother and I left her room for a dog and dinner break back at the house. We walked out the hospital doors into smacking rain and trees bowing hard in the wind. After a week of heat this was some excitement, and I thought: “Man, if I were dying, I’d wanna go right now!” Half hour later, back at home, the lightning kept on cracking and the thunder echoed through the hills, driving the poor dog to shiver. A small flock of soggy turkeys pecked across mother’s front lawn. Moments later, a silly mouse dashed across the living room. I'd never seen mice or turkeys at Mother's before.

After the storm and a small meal, I drove to the hospital alone for the evening vigil and sing. I opened the door to room 811 and was startled to find her lying flat, in perfect stillness. I called to her quietly and entered in slow motion. Details I couldn't process at first eventually came into focus: the reset IV. The cannula tube curled and set at the top of her bed. I put my ear to her open mouth, then her chest; I took her hand. She felt alive. But I knew her soul had made a run for it, right smack dab in the middle of the summer's last storm.

Awestruck, all I could say was: "You did it!"

Such quiet. Such stillness. Moved by the soul-deep feeling of peace in the room, I tuned up the guitar and sang for her anyway. I sang for us, for endings, for the road ahead, for beginnings. Eventually I packed up all the gadgets and comforts and supplies we'd brought for the vigil and, understanding the moment as more of a transition than a goodbye, let the door close quietly between us. 

Her motto in this life was: “Say thank you and move on.”  And so we do.

Thank you, Mama.

And thank YOU, friends, for reminding me how vital and tight our community is. Your messages and small kindnesses have lifted my family more than I can say. Mama loved chiming in as “Tracy’s Mom” (or sometimes just “Mom”) on Facebook and livestream chats, and was deeply moved to know how many people were pulling and praying for her in her time of need. My brother felt it, too.

Your love and energy made a difference. Thank you <3

I look ahead with a full heart and a spark of excitement for the shows to come — including today’s livestream! I can’t wait to sing for you, with you, and because of you. Thank you for your part in our incredible circle.

Into the fullness, then! Blessings on us all,
tg

P.S. Essex Junction/Burlington: Our concert is rescheduled for January 11, 2026. Thanks for understanding.

P.P.S. My brother, a fine craftsman, will continue the boat cover business my mom started in 1991. He does beautiful work. If you’re in the Knoxville area, check out Anchor Custom.