She wrote me a letter after her death, and I remember a kind of happy light as I sat by the rose tree on her old bench by the back door so surprised to receive it wondering what she would say looking up before I could open it and laughing to myself in silent expectation.
Dear son it is time for me to leave you the words you are used to hearing, are no longer mine to give. You can only hear those words of motherly affection now from your own mouth and only for those who stand motherless before you.
As for me I must forsake adulthood and be bound gladly to a new childhood. You must understand this apprenticeship demands of me an elemental innocence from everything I have ever held in my hands.
I know your generous soul is well able to let me go You will in the end be happy to know my God was true and that after so many years of loving you so long I find myself in the wide, infinite mercy of being mothered myself.
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."