…the clothes off her back.

Mari n me 1961As I type this post, I’m wearing my sister’s favorite ‘cozy’ (aka – sleep-in) clothes –  blue and green capri madras pants and a fresh white t-shirt.  She left them here the last time she visited, almost three years ago.  I let her know immediately that she left ’em.  She told me to hang onto them for the next time.

This was months  before her ‘diagnosis’.  During the holy and heartbreaking season of her dying and death, I asked her several times if she wanted me to bring them to her.  She always said, “No, you might need them someday.”

It’s been 805 days since I last said, “Goodbye, I love you BEST.” to Mari.  And she was right (again).  I needed those cozy clothes today.  It’s not been a bad day.  Actually, it’s been a great day.  It’s been the kind when we would have talked for hours on the phone about silly stuff, like our nicknames for the contestants on American Idol or what we thought might happen next on Castle or what we were going to fix for dinner that evening.

Since we can’t talk today, I’m feeling the coziness of her love; relishing her sarcasm & wit; and just plain missing her.

How do you celebrate the people you love whom you can no longer call?

7 thoughts on “…the clothes off her back.

  1. Ahhhh! I learned from my friend Marilyn that after people leave us here, we have to continue the friendship by any other reasonable means. I have only to go into my fabric stash and my tool storage and my quilting book collection to find her. Everytime I see a fabric printed with ladybugs, watermelons or ants, I think of her. My quilts still include yardage or scraps she left behind. At first, I was the pupil who was ready, and she was the teacher who would appear. Now? I think I might be able to show her a trick or two!!!

  2. THANKS, Penny! Marilyn sounds like someone i wish i’d known. and yep, i bet you can teach many of us a trick or two 😉

  3. In my kitchen are constant reminders of my maternal ancestors. I have a soup tureen that my great grandmother brought in her trousseau from Ireland. I use my grandmother’s biscuit cutter, and I hear my mother’s admonition to use a pinch… not to overwhelm the food with too much spice or too much handling. As I write this, my seven year old grandson is waiting patiently for me to play a game with him. My mom and grandmother and great grandmother are all whispering in my ear, “Pay attention and live in the moment. Supper can wait!” Bye!

  4. what holy memories, what a holy experience and what a holy moment, Susan. thanks!

  5. Funny you should ask. I drove to Carolina Beach today and I’m staying at the motel my brother and his wife managed from the mid-80’s to mid-90’s. I have lots of good memories of coming here with our kids , but this wasn’t the good idea I thought it’d be. I’m staying tonight but will leave tomorrow and go elsewhere. If I must to get out of the rest of the reservation, I’ll tell them the real reason. The ocean is still magical but not this motel. Enjoy the Jammies, Lisa.

  6. As you know, I so strongly feel that God gives us memories so the people we love are never gone from us. Your wardrobe attests to that.

  7. amma, i’d be feeling the same as you. funny how grief sneaks-up on us, even in the most beautiful of places. sending you loving relo vibes…

    Tom, thanks for the gentle reminder. ❤

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