Mama Pea

My fantastical artist friend, Alea Bone, connected me with Mama Pea in April. Her full name is Patrice, and she was a caregiver in Portland. She had a bunch of roses she didn’t have a home for anymore.

A few days later, I was headed to Multnomah Village to pick up hundreds of magic roses. Roses who had been tasked with brightening the room for a woman who’s brain had forgotten most things, but she ALWAYS loved roses.

Patrice was small, but I could sense right away that she was fierce. And creative. And caring.

Now she was off onto a new adventure for herself, after closing the final chapter of her hospice career. Her last patient was named Patricia, or Pat. Patrice had lived in Pat’s basement apartment for the last five years, and had turned it into a glorious artist’s space. Even as I saw it getting dismantled and packed for moving, I could feel the creative and loving energy that had grown here through these women and their connection.

I asked Patrice what I could make for her as a keepsake with Pat’s flowers, and she requested a small wreath for her and one for Pat’s son. They had worked closely together to make sure Mama Pat had what she needed.

As I drove home with this glorious bounty, visions started swirling of the piece these roses were asking to create. I could feel BIG and UNCONDITIONAL love coming from these stems. I had loved hearing the stories of how Pat had been cared for and loved on as her life came to an end.

The following week, I was headed to the Cultural Center with a load of goodness.