Finally Free: A Tribute to My Mother

I recently heard Train perform “Drops of Jupiter” on the Today Show — a song I’ve always loved but never truly appreciated. The lead singer mentioned that it was written on the day his mother died. Suddenly, the lyrics hit me in a new way.

“Did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?”

It stopped me cold.

For years, I’ve listened to that song with a sense of mystery and nostalgia, but I never realized it was about a son trying to understand his mother’s passing — trying to imagine where she went, what she might have become, and whether she found peace. That revelation opened something in me.

I thought instantly of my own mother.

She lived much of her life in pain. She spent many years in a wheelchair, often too tired or disheartened to leave the house. As her world became smaller, I prayed for her to find peace.

When I learned the story behind "Drops of Jupiter," I felt a sudden, beautiful image bloom in my mind: my mother, free from pain, dancing among the stars.

That vision became this piece — "Finally Free."

In it, a woman who represents my mother sits still, quiet, apart from the world. But then, as the music rises, something stirs. The Great Mystery appears.

The figures that follow are her spirit — unfolding, lifting, letting go. They join hands, swirl upward, and dance across the face of the moon. Each one becomes lighter, more transparent, more at peace, until she dissolves into starlight.

I like to think that somewhere beyond what we can see, she really is dancing — not in escape, but in freedom.

Sometimes art gives us what words cannot: a way to imagine our loved ones whole again. It reminds us that love doesn’t end when a heartbeat does. It transforms, travels, expands — maybe even dances.

So tonight, when I look up at the moon, I’ll picture her there — swirling in a gown of gold and light, laughing, moving, finally free.

Question:When you look at the night sky, who do you imagine is dancing among the stars?