On my wall is a framed chart that my mother, Cynthia Rose Ryan, created when I was just a little girl. It’s full of guidance & special words straight from her heart. Mom was a self-taught numerologist and charted for people who were in need of help, needed structure, someone to confide in, or simply just needed a friend. Loved by all and cherished by her family, she was our matriarch.

Among what she wrote was that I’d be selfless, serve others, and value life’s deepest meanings.

It’s ironic that she also embodied these traits. She had a heart of gold, wild and free, tailored to giving care for others, helping to raise her grandchildren, loving all things Native American, astrological and naturalistic.

Mom was a veteran of the Army. Having served during Vietnam, she was a child of the 60‘s and grew up during one of the one of the most tumultuous and divisive decades in world history, marked by the civil rights movement and the assassinations of President Kennedy and Martin Luther King.

My parents met in high school and were married in 1969, the year my eldest brother was born, when Mom was just 18 and Dad 19. Theirs is a true love story of destiny. Two soul mates, surviving the test of time.

Fostering her little brother, my Uncle, and some of our cousins for a time, my parents loved their family and grandchildren so very much and my mom could have taught a class or written a book on how to be the best housewife of the longest-living generation in history, the Baby Boom Era.

Coping without her strength, support and daily reminders of everything you normally forget, has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Our love for her endures … remembered in memories of all she blessed us with in her life.

She gave our family her undivided attention and always made our lives rich even when times were the most difficult growing up.

One of my fondest childhood memories was one of their hardest times in life. Our family had to live in tents at a campground for 6 months when my parents’ cabin burnt down due to arson fire when we lived in Sugarloaf, up in the mountains.

I remember the school bus dropping us off in the woods and feeling like we were so cool, hiking, marshmallow roasting, adventures with my siblings every day, and staying up all night playing card games like kings on the corner, hearts and spades, and Yahtzee; that was a favorite.

As an adult, I know it was hard for a young couple with four kids to live that way — isolated and trying to figure out how to start over with nothing — but we were happy, they made it great and it was due to her ingenuity. Her resourcefulness was second to none. Grieving her loss is a daily tug of war.