Blog Post 7: The Alchemy of Ivy Mae
Title: "Ivy Mae’s Healing Hands"
Ivy Mae sat on the porch, a faint curl of smoke drifting up from the joint balanced between her fingers. The sweet, earthy scent of lavender mingled with the sharper tang of cedar sap burning in the old metal brazier by her feet. This morning ritual wasn’t just a habit; it was survival.
“Morning, Grandma,” Jas said, stepping onto the porch.
“Morning, sweetheart.” Ivy Mae’s voice was hoarse but kind, her smile barely reaching her eyes. She patted the chair next to her, and Jas sank into it, wrapping their sweater tightly around themselves against the morning chill.
The silence between them was familiar, comforting even. They had lived in this stillness for years, in the shadow of loss and unspoken truths.
“I ever tell you about my boys?” Ivy Mae asked suddenly, her gaze fixed on the horizon.
Jas hesitated. “Your sons?”
Ivy Mae nodded, her bracelets jangling softly as she adjusted the shawl draped over her shoulders. “Liam and Luke. Twins. Your uncles. They were beautiful boys, you know. Full of life, full of trouble. Luke could play any instrument he touched, and Liam… Liam had an artist’s soul. Always sketching, painting. The world came alive through his eyes.”
“What happened to them?” Jas asked gently, even though they already knew some of the story.
Ivy Mae took a long drag from her joint, exhaling slowly. “The same thing that takes too many people these days: pain. They lost their dad young—my first husband. He fought his own demons, addiction mostly. After he passed, I tried to keep the boys safe, tried to keep us all together. But the world doesn’t make it easy, does it?”
Jas shook their head.
“Liam… he couldn’t take the cruelty. The bullying, the judgment. People are so quick to tear others down when they see them struggling. He… he ended his life when he was just sixteen.”
Jas looked away, their throat tightening.
“And Luke,” Ivy Mae continued, her voice faltering, “he carried that grief like a weight chained to his soul. Turned to drugs to numb it, thought he could fight it on his own. He got clean a few times—he really tried—but the system’s not built to help people like him. Three years ago, fentanyl took him.”
Jas reached over, taking Ivy Mae’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Grandma.”
Ivy Mae squeezed their hand, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “And then your dad… when he…” She couldn’t finish, but she didn’t need to. Jas’s father had died the same way as Luke, and their mother had vanished two years ago, her name added to the growing list of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women.
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” Jas whispered, their voice cracking.
Ivy Mae turned to face them fully, her expression softening. “You’ve got more strength in you than you realize. Your mom, your dad—they gave you their fire, their love. And you’ve got me and your grandpa. We’ll figure this out together.”
Jas nodded, though they didn’t feel convinced.
“What’s in the tea you made yesterday?” they asked suddenly, changing the subject.
Ivy Mae chuckled, wiping her eyes with the corner of her shawl. “Lavender for calm, willow bark for your grandpa’s knees, and rosemary for memory. Plants heal, you know. They’ve been taking care of us long before anything else.”
“Maybe you can teach me sometime.”
“I’d like that,” Ivy Mae said with a small smile. “One thing at a time, though. First, we survive today.”
The rising sun bathed them in golden light, and for a moment, the scent of lavender and cedar felt like a balm for all the pain they carried.