I believe we can have multiple mothers. Fathers. Sisters. Best friends.
We have our blood mothers and siblings of course, those best friends that are with us from the very beginning and then the ones we meet decades down the road.
But we can also have spirit mothers, soul sisters, and soul mates we may never see again.
These people who live inside of us without any relation at all and have pieces of themselves engraved in our bones. Memories of their morals shine out of our veins, making us more whole and complete individuals.
Making us our best selves.
I have a spirit mother and her name is Susan.
Now don’t get me wrong. I will only have one birth mother. One real mother. The one who created me, raised me, and sends me money in the mail when I’m well bottom broke. She is the love of my life and I don’t want her to ever overlook that. She is my rock and joy.
But then there is Susan.
I met her in college through my best friend, Savannah. She was always talking about Susan and how similar I was to her. She feared me meeting Susan because she knew we would fall in love instantly. And she was right. We did. Even more than we could have imagined.
Somehow, I knew she was going to change my life even before she did.
She carries around pop rocks in her purse and has a whole shelf devoted to baking supplies in her pantry. She adds butterscotch schnapps to box brownie mixes and makes the best mimosas I have ever tasted, adding fresh fruit and Bacardi Coconut Rum for flavor.
She is the most positive person I know. There has not been one time on the phone when she does not sound somewhat happy or upbeat. Despite all that goes wrong, from her mother’s kitchen flooding to her home phone mysteriously dying, she never blinks an eye. She carries on, she beats her drum, she holds her head high and laughs about it in the end.
If there is someone I want to live like it is her. She and her husband, William, built their house on Saratoga Lake in New York 12 years ago. Ever since then, they have created an earth friendly empire that puts anyone under a magical spell any time he or she visits.
The kitchen walls are orange, there is a massage table upstairs, Congo drums in the corner, a cd or record playing no matter what time of the day it is. In Susan’s bathroom, she has a bulletin board full of old concert tickets, Fleetwood Mac albums, Stevie Nick’s signature, nostalgic pictures of her and William oceanside before I knew them. Books line their nightstands and they make their own kombucha in the basement. A compost, Susan started in the backyard. Kokopellis dot their guest room walls.
I want a house just like this. A life I should say. One of simplicity, love, and joy.
Susan never had any children, but she is one of the best mother’s in my mind.
She will take care of anyone. She is the Mother Teresa of my world, the Gandhi of my heart.
She is my mother, or perhaps in a past life she was. In this life, she is my guide to greater peace and wholeness as a person. She helps me to become my best self.
She shows me how in the way she lives and in what she does for others, along with herself. There has to be a balance in how much you give to the world. You must also know when to give back accordingly to yourself. Susan has shown me that.
When I bring up in conversation my “spirit mother,” which happens quite often, people stop and slightly raise an eyebrow, before I begin to explain myself and the definition of what a spirit mother means. We all have them. Even you I bet. Spirit Mothers.
For some, it may be that mother you never had. For others, that woman who picked you up from parties on late summer nights when you couldn’t drive home and feared calling your real mother. For others, it might be that teacher who made you fall in love with history, the boss who gave you a job, the bartender who taught you how to drink, the host mother in France who gave you your first sex talk, or the old lady who lived down the road who used to write poetry and made you want to write more of it. They are everywhere. All around us.
Spirits. Guides. Mothers. 
Susan is mine.
When your car window is smashed and your favorite new purse is stolen in downtown Detroit, she tells you to tell your mother. Tell her everything.
When it’s your first day of working at an Elementary school, she tells you to wear something colorful and bright. The kids will remember you more.
Always have snacks ready, a six pack of beer in the fridge, brownie mix on hand when you need something sweet. Running low on cash? Go to that concert anyway and dance your worries away. Sending out a birthday package? Collage the box with old magazine clippings and don’t forget the Birthday Oreos.
When somebody tells you what they need or want for Christmas, write it down, make a gift list, even if it’s only July. When Christmas comes and you give them that one thing they mentioned months ago and maybe forgot about themselves, they will be forever grateful.
Eat well. Never stop learning. Laugh because life is funny. Love like it is your job.
Because really it is. The most important one.
It is my last weekend in New York before I leave for Michigan. I plan a quick visit to Susan’s house before I have to meet and pick up my boyfriend from the airport later that night. His flight becomes delayed, my visit quickly turns into a long overnight, and now the flight won’t arrive until 10pm the next day. The day of my layover at her house, just so happens to be Family Day in Susan’s neighborhood.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go? I won’t know anybody and I don’t want you to worry about me,” I say as Susan quickly cuts up a pan of brownies and shakes powdered sugar over them on a pink tray.
“Of course you are going! You are my family. You’re my spirit daughter and that’s exactly how I am going to introduce you to everyone,” She says giggling. We laugh together, knowing that we may sound a little crazy when we reference each other as our “spirit” mother or daughter.
We walk to the event together; a full-blown party armed with dunking machines and water slides for children, homemade sangria and beer on tap for adults, tents full of food, and a live band for dancing under the moon later on in the evening. It is the perfect day. I meet neighbors, relatives, and family members that I have only ever heard about, but never been able to put a face with for years. Now I feel like I have known them forever.
Susan and I are invited out on a friend’s boat on Saratoga Lake and we quickly take up the offer. I am the youngest and she’s the oldest woman on the boat; I like how we pull everything together, bookending moments just like this one.
The boat speeds around the lake, stopping now and then to anchor, and allowing us to cool off in the wavy waters. We stop at one end of the lake, a shallow sandy section where the entire boat party slips in for a dip. With our drinks in hand, we pass a volley ball between the group, the sun sinking closer to the horizon behind us. My body is warm of sangria and laughter.
A feeling of peace enters my soul. Susan always tells me, we should always feel like we are in the right place at the right time. Otherwise, we aren’t actually there at all. If we hold intention to where we are, we are fully present.
And I am fully present here, in the waters of my spirit mother and her family. I grab Susan’s hand, and look her in the eyes, whispering, thank you for everything, without having to say a word.
Her spirit hears me and sings I love you back.
