Rewritten Essay
Journeying along Palouse roads strengthens bond between writer and mother
Journeying Through the Palouse: A Daughter's Reflection
As I cycled along the picturesque Palouse region in Eastern Washington during an autumn tour, the open road seemed to dance before me like a mesmerizing ribbon. The wheat fields stretched out in every direction, a breathtaking sight under the pale, cloud-strewn skies. Whenever landscapes leave me awestruck, I can't help but think, Mom would've loved this.
Four years prior to this journey, my mother and I embarked on a similar sojourn through these very same isolated roads to explore the Palouse. Unbeknownst to me at the time, it would be the last opportunity we'd have together before she passed away.
Our travels allowed us one more opportunity to seal the stories of our past, to shed light on our shared history and gain insights into each other. Death, though expected, always catches me off guard, making me doubt that I had more time.
Together, we had fought through years of misunderstanding and strife to forge a bond of understanding and compassion. I was convinced that my mother owed me explanations. Yet, I learned to let go, to cease dragging the past into the present.
In June 2019, my mother and I embarked on another adventure, traversing U.S. Highway 12 in the heart of summer. The landscape burst with vibrant hues of yellow, green, and gold, the farmers' fields seemingly swaying in harmony with the wind. As we neared Walla Walla, my mother reminisced about a long-ago car ride, complete with fond laughter and tears as we recollected our shared memories.
One of my earliest memories is playing shadow tag with my mother, her quick shadows evading my toes in the bright sunlight. I spent most of my life chasing after her, while she remained out of reach, like an elusive specter. My mother's love and attention oscillated between presence and absence during my childhood, a confusing mix of emotions that left me yearning for her affection.
Born into a troubled home, marred by an acrimonious divorce, she tried her best to shield us from her own turmoil. The weight of responsibility proved too much, however, and she resorted to neglect and disappearing acts, leaving us to fend for ourselves in her absence.
My extended family was often caught in the crossfire, as my father, a charismatic yet volatile man, moved in and out of our lives like a stranger. With good looks that could charm, he would sweep us off our feet before disappearing without a trace, leaving only broken hearts and bitterness in his wake.
Yet, as I navigated the labyrinthine fields of the Palouse with my mother, our candid conversations illuminated the shadows of our shared past, offering glimpses of understanding and empathy. I came to realize the depths of her love for us, but her inability to express it effectively.
We reveled in the beauty of the landscape and shared stories that brought us closer, reliving our favorite memories, and unearthing long-buried feelings. With each retelling, our mutual understanding deepened, and we embraced our pasts, not as burdens, but as stepping stones towards a brighter future.
Tragically, my mother's illness cut our journey short, as she passed away in May 2020, just a year after our cross-country adventure. I still find myself chasing the memories of our time together, longing for more. Every beautiful landscape I encounter reminds me of her, and I find solace in the knowledge that she was always there, separately yet inextricably intertwined with my life.
Her memory lingers, invoked by breathtaking vistas, fading as if into the distance but never truly disappearing. Like the open road ahead, love is an ever-changing journey, propelling us forward, giving us a sense of hope and purpose as we ceaselessly strive to move on.
- After cycling through the Palouse region, I couldn't help but imagine my mom, who would have enjoyed the breathtaking landscapes.
- In our last journey together through the same region, we found an opportunity to discuss and understand each other better.
- I believed my mother owed me explanations, but I learned to let go, ignoring past grievances for our mutual benefit.
- On another adventure through Eastern Washington, we exchanged stories and laughter, recalling memories from our shared history.
- One of my earliest memories is playing a game of shadow tag with my mother, a symbol of the elusive and fleeting nature of her love and attention.
- Struggling with a troubled home and relationships, my mother tried to shield us from her turmoil, leading to a complex relationship that required time and understanding to heal.
- As I traverse different landscapes now, I practice mindfulness and personal growth, honoring my mother's memory and focusing on the beauty and lessons within each journey.
