The words are ringing across the world, searing our hearts in sorrow. “I can’t breathe.” The rising up of people everywhere –from Havre, Montana, to New York City–is a magnificent breathing of unity, a demand for justice, for equal rights, and with one inspiring exhale to say, “Black lives matter!”
Breathing is difficult for my elderly mother in her retirement community in Maryland. This evening, I prepare to fly back to be with her as much as possible during this time of Covid-19 restrictions. I live in a duality of crisis–the large-scale calls for change and my personal sadness.

On that big stage level, I’m breathless with admiration of the brave people who are risking their lives –wearing masks and knowing that Covid-19 kills by taking your breath away. Passionate demonstrations are leading to practical reforms in police departments, and an awakening of all of us to the urgent need to end racism, and to vote in November.
My mother’s heart is slowing down. She’s frail and small. Her mind wanders. I call and soothe her with stories of the family dog Gina, the way our Dad would always say, “What a good dog!” –a favorite retelling she shares with me often when I’m out walking with our dog, Pepper. She says she loves me, and I love her back and she falls asleep. I feel her gentle smile, and her breathing is peaceful.
Breathing. Natural. What keeps us alive. As a naturalist writer, I can’t help but extend the words of “I can’t breathe” to the trees that are the lungs of the planet. I feel their cries as the biggest ones fall to the chainsaw. I see hope for merging the voices for racial justice with tree and climate justice, as I experienced when my niece Anna and I marched with tens of thousands of people in April, 2017, in Washington, D.C.

My mother and I marched side by side protesting the Vietnam War in the early 1970s, when I was in seventh grade, right behind people raising their fists and shouting, “Attica means, Fight Back!” My parents spoke up and acted for fair housing, for the end of segregation, for environmental laws, and for civil rights. My two brothers and I grew up listening to Peter, Paul, and Mary, to Pete Seeger, Arlo Guthrie, and Joan Baez. Our spirited dinnertime conversations would range from voting and civil rights to overpopulation, birds, and sports. I’m grateful for my upbringing.
Here’s to my mother, Catherine Richie. I’m ready to breathe with her.

Marina, I’m saddened to hear of your mothers failing, but it sounds like she still has the spunk and spark I remember enjoying when she was out here in Missoula visiting, not that long ago.
her sweet smile, and great stories were an inspiration, and she had a joy… Please give her a warm hug from me, and tell her I enjoyed her company, and intellect so much. Blessings to you both.
loco
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Safe travels and thinking of you.
Jan
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Prayers for you and our mom. Safe Travels. What a wonderful childhood you had. I was blessed to be raised by 2 sets of grandparents in Idaho both of whom had very close black friends and a love of nature. I knew very little about what racism was and that there were those out there who cared so little for other people and the environment we all live in until I was in school but only saw it in person in College.
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Keep breathing! Safe travels and know that we are with you in spirit on this tough journey. Peace and full lungs to your momma!
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It is a blessing that you are able to be with your mom.I read about the virus that some people are completely isolated. Too sad. I never have met her, but from your descriptions, I love her. Thinking of you both with love and breath.Donna
You write so well.🙏 Sent from Yahoo Mail for iPad
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What a beautiful tribute in your writing to your mother, to our people, to our earth…love your words, thank you
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Dearest Marina, what a beautiful tribute to your mom, to breathing, to life. I’m so glad you made it back East in time to be with Cate, breathing together, no matter how short the time. Love you so dearly.
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