My Mom

Throughout my life, the words I've used to describe my relationship to Katrina have undergone constant evolution…

My mom’s friend...

The women we share a house with...

Mom mom’s housemate...roommate…

My brother’s mother - one of the three brothers, three mothers trio...

My mom’s partner...

To eventually just “one of my moms”

This evolution was less about clarifying my own understanding of her role in my life, as it was driven by discomfort as to how the rest of the world would react to it. I remember testing the waters with new acquaintances by using different terms and gauging reactions. In my own mind there was less uncertainty.

I used the words “I’m Katrina’s son” at the Fair Haven Clinic long before using them anywhere else.

As a latchkey Generation X’er I was quite often left to navigate myself from school to home, or my father's law office, or the Clinic.

The Fair Haven Community Health Clinic. I had grown up there. I had aunts and uncles everywhere - of all shapes and colors, always happy to see me. Sometimes, however, as I entered and passed the front desk, there would be new hire - an employee who didn’t recognize me on sight, and they would be forced to ask who I was and where I was going...and that’s when I got to reply “I’m Katrina’s son.” No offence mom/Bonnie, but this got a better reaction than your name did. Being Katrina’s son, felt like it silenced more objections, opened more doors, and just commanded more respect.

I still have strong memories of walking up the concrete ramp, past the front desk, around the waiting room, going by the WIC office and up the stairs...a quick jog left and then right again would bring me to the door of the Director.

And there I would see probably the most elegant woman I knew, professionally dressed, standing - towering - with presence and confidence and authority, while at the same time welcoming and open and warm. Awe inspiring and accessible in one.

I am Katrina’s son...and she, as much as anyone made me who I am. She helped make me an athlete, specifically a skier, a hiker, camper, boater, biker, and sometimes tennis player.

She taught me to load, and unload a car; to grow food; to string lights on a Christmas tree; and to build a fire.

She helped make me an artist - from watching her meticulously mold Sculpy fruit, freehand graceful calligraphy, create colorful needlepoint, to hearing her constant encouragement of all the avenue’s my own art would follow.

She motivated me to experience more. I’d grown up hearing about her time spent in Denmark, her experiences in the Peace Corps, and other adventures. She seemed to have a lifetime of experiences before she became person I saw every day. It was that as much as anything that encouraged my college trip to Paris, and eventually my move to Seattle to seek out something other than the obvious choices before me.

She defined in me the understanding of what women could and even should be in the world! Don’t get me wrong there have been more women of influence in my life than I can count, all of whom defied lowly stereotypes, and set lofty examples for behavior, attitude, talent, intelligence, warmth, wisdom, and achievement. But she was stands, stood, in a place apart - the first CEO I ever knew, the one I watched receive important awards, appear in newspapers, and heard on the radio; she was the ones whose powerful and graceful path I literally followed down ski slopes.

Of course, she also taught me to serve others. To strive and build and question and help wherever I can.

And then she would comfort me, give me a hug, clean up my car sickness, wipe my tears, and wish it was all better...whatever it was.

Of all the thousands of words that can be used to describe her only two matter to me now. Of all the names people have given her over the years, only one will last in my mind. It's the two word name by which my children will always know her: their one and only “Granny Trin”.