One month ago today was August 8th, and the 40th anniversary of my mother’s death. Last year, I had started writing a piece that was meant to be a placeholder, for what I wanted to write to mark that enormous milestone.

I was beginning to have the sense that it would shape up to become the final chapter in this journey of grieving and honoring that began here, around two decades ago, when I began the ritual of writing about my mom, and what it was like to lose her at age seven, on her death day.

Year after year here, I’ve written about where I’ve been at, in the process of finally allowing myself to acknowledge what an enormous tragedy it was for her to die of cancer at only age 38 — and to be witnessing in that process.

I knew this big, intense anniversary was coming up, and that I wanted to do something to mark the day… and I also felt that the writing I had been sharing here for so long was coming together into something that was almost ready to be a book.

I don’t think I’ll ever be done mourning my mother — but I was starting to feel prepared to share more about the work that I’ve been doing here for so long. Somehow, it all came together, into the idea of giving her the retrospective art show for her work that she never got to have in life, generate support and interest for the completion of the book that I’ve been writing here for many years, and creating a Kickstarter campaign to make it all possible: Double Eternity: Memoir & Retrospective Art Show

Amazing poster for Double Eternity by Billie Buck

Curating the Double Eternity art retrospective on the weekend of 8/8, for my mother, Maggie Cook Polacheck, was one of the biggest things I’ve ever accomplished in my life — both logistically and emotionally.

It was so much work, so much fun, so profound, and I have never been more proud of anything I’ve ever done. Everything about this exhibition and gathering for her (and for me) were pure magic.

There is no way I could have pulled it off without massive amounts of support and love from my community, and I am forever grateful for everyone and everything coming together to make it happen so seamlessly.

Singing old tunes with my dad, Uncle Jono, and lots of Maggie’s old friends in AFTM

Maggie’s retrospective was like opening a time capsule at an Irish wake, with an old-time string band playing. Elders sipped spritzes and tapped their feet in time to the banjo, and babies danced in the arms of adoring aunties. It was like sitting shiva for three days, with a glimmering mixture of laughter and tears, wonder and delight — the flowers of grief placed on an altar of love.

Many wonderful friends brought me flowers for my mom’s death day, which made my heart so very happy

Flashes of heartfelt conversations have been replaying in my mind since a month ago today, with countless sweet and moving moments, joy and tear-filled eyes, happy surprises, and so many people coming out of all the nooks and crannies of Austin (and beyond!) to be present for me and for Maggie, and to see her body of work in its full expression.

So grateful to have Double Eternity featured in the Austin Chronicle

We had a beautiful turnout for all three days (plus all the magic of installing the show, and taking it down), with an incredible convergence of beautiful people coming through Blackfeather Gallery and Vintage

Folks came out from as far afield as Santa Fe, El Paso, Waco, Stephenville, San Marcos, Pontotoc, San Antonio, and Maggie’s hometown of Llano and Lone Grove for the experience. It was a very multi-generational gathering, with many elders (including all of Maggie’s 3 siblings — my uncles and aunt, and their children and grandchildren!) and so many adorable babies and kiddos, plus lots of doggies and one special kitty — which I know would have made my mom (a big-time animal lover) very pleased.

My Aunt Ruth and my Uncle Ned. All my mom’s siblings were able to gather to honor her art and memory.

My Uncle Davy and I

We also had lots of wonderful tunes from many of Maggie’s old buddies from the Austin Friends of Traditional Music, and some of her grand-nephews doing Hank Williams renditions, and I was even enticed to join in on a few, and sing some songs with my dad!

It’s honestly hard to fathom how quickly it all came together — from my first visit to Blackfeather Gallery back in April to inquire if it might be available in August…

That date was miraculously, and only by chance (or fate?!) open, and everything fell together perfectly from that point, aided by so much help from my ancestors, from Maggie’s spirit, and from all my earth angels who showed UP and rode hard for me to make this thing happen, for me — and for her.

My incredible friend and blessed project manager Elizabeth Easterly

Me and Aileen who held down our bar, celebrating at Justine’s

My babe Laurel and I

But it was also the culmination of many years of healing, harrowing dark nights of the soul, and the dedication to see something broken and lost in me, and in my family — come back together into the flowering of something whole, and holy.

My dear papa and I

My dad, me, and my Aunt Ruth — it meant so much that they were able to be present for this. We weren’t sure if it would be possible, and it was kind of a miracle that they both made it. I felt a lot of urgency to make this show a reality while they, and other people who knew and loved Maggie were still able to see it.

It was kintsugi on a large scale — the shattered vessel that was my mother’s life, brought back together, shard by precious shard, and repaired with the 24karat gold of love, of community, of many helping hands working together to make this vision a reality.

Maggie’s altar and guestbook table

This was grief alchemy — the leaden sorrow of my solitary mourning, finally turned into something shining, something shared.

If you were there, then you know exactly what I’m talking about — and if you weren’t, you’ll have to take my word for it, but I hope these photos will give you a little taste of that special magic that all came together for 3 short days, at a big crossroads (both geographically and spiritually) in my life.

For the first time ever, my mother Maggie’s paintings, collages, sculptures, jewelry, and personal ephemera were brought together in one place. 

It was a beautiful, deeply moving, and totally unforgettable gathering. I am profoundly grateful to everyone who attended, and to everyone who helped make it possible.

I gave a reading to a standing room only packed gallery from my soon to be published memoir, and generated a lot of good energy from folks who are excited to read it (and have pledged to receive it, when it’s printed!)

Friends (Fiona and Lizzy!) looking at Maggie’s unfinished collage series

Visitors to the retrospective got to see Maggie’s incomplete collages displayed in person, along with her instructions for how she wanted them to be finished… The next phase is to begin restoring and completing the unfinished collage series Maggie was working on shortly before she died.

As an only child, the legacy of my mother’s life, work, and death has been a heavy one to hold. I have finally learned to ask for help, in that holding. The immense support and love I’ve received from everyone who has understood why I needed to do this now, and has been willing to help carry a corner of this dense ancestral quilt has been so incredibly healing. Especially for the seven year old girl part of me that worried she’d never be okay, never be able to survive that loss, and never be held or loved in the way I needed so much.

This is the last photograph of my mom & I together, I think. That’s been a hard realization, as I’ve been in the midst of this project — that we don’t have many of us together, after I got bigger. Maybe only this one. And in very few are we touching.

Perhaps it’s because moms are often the ones taking the family photos, behind the camera — but also because I grew from a baby into a little girl she was also becoming something else. An artist running out of time. A woman whose body was betraying her. Who lived with chronic pain long before cancer came to roost.

Of course we’re at Hank’s grave, on our one & only family vacation. The only other trip I can remember us taking was a train up to Detroit when I was 4, for my great-grandfather’s funeral. always felt peaceful for me.

I always thought of cemeteries as peaceful parks where dead people slept. I suppose that’s exactly what they are, in a way. It’s no surprise, given my childhood, that I ended up being curious and fascinated by death and its rituals, and someone who works with grief so intimately…It was such a big part of my life, growing up in graveyards, running and playing between the tombs.

I have always found those spaces very calming, (though I no longer stage elaborate gothic photoshoots in them) and I am glad that I was raised to have an appreciation and reverence for the cities of the dead. Still, it’s strange to see these photos of us there, all these decades later. I am so tiny, and so awkward. I feel like even in these grainy photographs, you can see the pain writ large on my little face.

I clutch my mother’s hand with both of mine, and pose in front of Hank’s grave. She is so, so thin. Her hair cut short for chemo, her face drawn. You can tell she is so tired. My legs are so brown and my feet are so big in my favorite periwinkle pearl jellies. They made my toes smell like fritos. Makes me think of how you can tell how big a puppy will grow by looking at its outsize paws. I was like a gangly wolf-pup, huddling close to my dwindling pack.

I was sitting with this photo the night before the 40th anniversary of my mother’s death. After so much intensive work, planning, gathering, emails, and spreadsheets, and preparing for three days of seeing lots of dear friends, family, and new faces, I was really trying to take a moment for the little girl in this photo.

That night, I really sat with where and who I was in that moment. I had been listening to Big Thief’s “Masterpiece” — the song that my friend MJ paired with her video about doing the restoration work on one of Maggie’s psychedelic sculptures (deep bow of gratitude to Northrop’s Furniture Shop for doing such an incredible job, and to MJ for the gift of this song!)

I wasn’t super familiar with the song before now, but the chorus told me it was not chosen by accident. Listening to it late at night in the bath, after burning the midnight oil installing Double Eternity, I was just cracked all the open — in a way I hadn’t been able to during all the effort of planning and doing, and nonstop going.

The lyrics are just… so true for everything I was feeling at that moment. Sometimes you are offered the gift of the perfect song, right when you need it most. (I took the liberty of changing Marie to Maggie.)

“You saw the masterpiece
She looks a lot like you
Wrapping your left arm around your right
Ready to walk you through the night

Old stars, filling up my throat
You gave ’em to me when I was born
Now they’re coming out

Laying there on the hospital bed
Eyes were narrow, blue and red
Took a draw of breath and said to me

“You saw the masterpiece
She looks a lot like me
Wrapping my left arm around your right
Ready to walk you through the night”

Old friends, old mothers, dogs and brothers
There’s only so much letting go
You can ask someone to do

So I keep you by my side
I will not give you to the tide
I’ll even walk you in my stride, Maggie

‘Cause I saw the masterpiece
She looks a lot like you
Wrapping your left arm around my right
Ready to walk me through the night”

Pairing these words with that photograph had me bawling, and giving my grief a sound. It made me realize that amidst all the flurry of dear faces, and trying to make the show and fundraising effort a success — I really needed to make some space in all of the swirl of energy for that lost little kid, who just really, really missed her mom. Especially on her death day.

I knew I could hold both — the treasure and miracle of getting to share her and her art with so many people — and making a little quiet corner in all of the hustle and bustle to just be with everything I was feeling. And it was a lot. All the things at once: grief and gratitude, sorrow and joy, exhaustion and constant motion!

But this song reminded me of what I most need to remember during that big weekend — that among all the incredible works of art my mom created, I am truly her masterpiece.

So many people have been telling me how much I look like my mom lately — more and more as I get older. I’m bigger than she was, and maybe healthier, in some ways. But I’m hers, and she was mine.

The beautiful show window, painted by Jana Swec, amazing slideshow by Skye Ashbrook.

Photos by Talitha Newman talithanewman, Melody Murphy, Fiona Robinson, Severin Steensen, Kimberly Love Duncan, and more I can’t remember right now! Thank to all for documenting this magic, so I could be more present with it — I am so grateful.

If you’d like to read more about this journey
of grieving, honoring, and remembering
my mother on her death day,
here is an archive of my writings about her:

MY MOTHER’S JOY
THESE TINY THINGS
THE WIZARD’S JAR
HAZY WINDOWS
THE AUGUST RITUAL
FALLING STARS + CACTUS FLOWERS
DOUBLE ETERNITY
MY ANGELIC INHERITANCE / THE HOLOGRAPHIC WILL
38 ON AUGUST THE 8TH
30 YEARS – SEIZURES
888 – HONEY BABE, I’M BOUND TO RIDE – DON’T YOU WANNA GO?
WILD BLUE YONDER
NO ROOM IN MY HEART FOR THE BLUES
FAMILY VACATION – HANK WILLIAMS’ GRAVE
STAR-CROSSED TROUBADOURS
Foxes in the Rain
Triumvirate Lemniscate
Gustav + Mama – August 8th