Thanks to Facebook, last night I talked to an old, close friend for the first time in 25 years. Before calling me, John did some catching up by blog. He read my post about my mom, who died when I was 18, and said he remembered coming with me to visit her in the hospital.
I almost felt jealous to know he had memories about her that I didn’t have. That whole time frame is a blank– I always appreciate someone who remembers her—to keep her memory alive. It struck me, when I hung up the phone, how rarely I do that myself. And John’s call turned out to be a sign from the universe.
Just last week ––in my continuing de-cluttering—I came across all my college datebooks—in which I faithfully recorded appointments and activities every day.
What a find. I didn’t look through them yet, but how could I bear to throw them out?. (And you wonder why I need to cluttercast…)
I’ve often thought about that time John mentioned—the month I spent at home after freshman year, making quick daily visits to my mother in the hospital. I had no idea she was dying—or I would have velcroed myself to her side.
I always wondered what I was doing instead. And last night, after John’s call, I found out.
Turns out June 1968 was a good month for movies—I saw Bonnie and Clyde and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.…in between the beach and bowling and shopping (and the most important preoccupation in my book—- washing my hair.)
And John was right. There it was– he came with me to the hospital, the day before I left for my summer job in New York, not suspecting that would be almost the last time I would ever talk to my mom.
I never really got to say goodbye.
A week later I wrote four words on an otherwise blank page:
I went back to my job in summer camp; life went on. Some people move their loved ones’ clothing so fast that the Salvation Army truck is parked outside the house before the body is buried. But the clothes in my mother’s closet remained just as she left them—that week, that summer, and for years.
Every now and then my father would urge me to take something, take whatever I wanted. I refused. I was bitter. I took nothing.
And finally, years later, he gave everything away.
I’m convinced my regret over this is the reason I hoard save everything I’ve ever had. Because I have very few tangible reminders of my mother.
Sometimes my sister wears my mother’s jewelry; I have a few pieces but I keep them stashed away, worried I will lose them; I rarely wear them.
And the clothes…..
I would kill to have those clothes. And not just because they’d be vintage.
So I was thrilled a couple weeks ago to find buried treasure —a red sweater of my mom’s that I can remember her wearing. I have no idea how it ended up in California decades later but I opened a box and there it was.
I took it to the cleaners’ and then hung it in my closet, where I knew it would stay— like the jewelry—stashed away.
So last night’s call with John unlocked more than memories.
It’s at least 50 years old; the details aren’t today’s styles; still it’s in perfect condition. It fits…..and it feels just right……
Darryle,
what an absolutely wonderful post. I am very touched by the story of your mother. The appointment book entries for the sad days of her passing away are tugging at my heart. Thank you for sharing this private moment with us.
I think your mom’s red sweater becomes you.
Ciao
Eleonora
I think the sweater looks perfect. And just where it should be, on you, not stored away.
Wow, what a touching story. Seeing those date book entries… I need tissues. Thank you for sharing this. And I love the special red sweater.
I kept the last gift ( a beautiful robe) my Mother ever bought me hanging in the closet with the tags still on it for 25 years.I used to go in the closet and just stare at it and think of our last shopping adventure before she became too sick to leave the house. Just recently, I took the tags off and wore it. Of course I cried!
You touched my heart with your story. Thank-you!
I’m glad to see you wearing that red sweater..now put on a piece of her jewelry and really feel your mother. A beautiful woman that I remember very well.
Wearing that red sweater felt wonderful.
Thank you to everyone for the wonderful comments, messages and memories you shared with me.
Beautiful post.
I, too, have a sweater and a shirt of my mother’s that I still wear. Like your mother ‘s sweater, I’m sure my mother’s shirts are dated, but I’ve never been a stickler for style. Even if I were, I wouldn’t care.
This is a wonderful post. I’m so pleased to have found your blog, thanks to SheWrites, and I can’t wait to read more. You might enjoy the discussion of memory and memoir, over at The Sister Project; there’s a lot to read, but a couple of my favorite posts (and ones that remind me of yours) are here and here. Enjoy, and thank you.
Thank you Christi and Paige, I’m honored that Meg Waite Clayton featured my blog on SheWrites—and so happy to discover you both, and the Sister Project, too.
A genuinely lovely story. The visuals are stunning–the calendar, the sweater–and stimulate so much in us, the lucky readers. Write on.
I love the pictures. especially the diary, but also the young you. So moving. THank you! What was your mom like, I wonder? I hope you write more about her —
Thanks Marion and Charlotte, for your support and comments, especially since it’s relatively new for me to write about my past. This post has been valuable for me in many ways—including the discovery of other writers from SheWrites, who discovered me. Yet another benefit of blogging!