nt_inuk

The baggy yellow shirt had long sleeves, four extra-large pockets trimmed in black thread and snaps up the front. I t was faded from years of wear, but still in decent shape. I found it in 1963 when I was home from college on Christmas break, rummaging through bags of clothes Mom intended to give away. "You're not taking that old thing, are you?" Mom said when she saw me packing the yellow shirt. "I wore that when I was pregnant with your brother in 1954!" "It's just the thing to wear over my clothes during art class, Mom. Thanks!" I slipped it into my suitcase before she could object the yellow shirt became a part of my college wardrobe. I loved it.

After graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved into my new apartment and on Saturday mornings when I cleaned.

The next year, I married. When I became pregnant, I wore the yellow shirt during big-belly days. I missed Mom and the rest of my family, since we were in Colorado and they were in Illinois. But that shirt helped. I smiled, remembering that Mother had worn it when she was pregnant, 15 years earlier.

That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the shirt had given me, I patched one elbow, wrapped it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom. When Mom wrote to thank me for her "real" gifts, she said the yellow shirt was lovely. She never mentioned it again.

The next year, my husband, daughter and I stopped at Mom and Dad's to pick up some furniture. Days later, when we uncrated the kitchen table, I noticed something yellow taped to its bottom. The shirt!

And so the pattern was set. On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and Dad's mattress. I don't know how long it took for her to find it, but almost two years passed before I discovered it under the base of our living-room floor lamp. The yellow shirt was just what I needed now while refinishing furniture. The walnut stains added character.

In 1975 my husband and I divorced. With my three children, prepared to move back to Illinois, as I packed, a deep depression overtook me. I wondered if I could make it on my own. I wondered if I would find a job. I paged through the Bible, looking for comfort. In Ephesians, I read, "So use every piece of God's armor to resist the enemy whenever he attacks, and when it is all over, you will be standing up." I tried to picture myself wearing God's armor, but all I saw was the stained yellow shirt. Slowly, it dawned on me. Wasn't my mother's love a piece of God's armor? My courage was renewed. Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back to Mother. The next time I visited her, I tucked it in her bottom dresser drawer. Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station.

A year later I discovered the yellow shirt hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet. Something new had been added. Embroidered in bright green across the breast pocket were the words "I BELONG TO PAT."
Not to be outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and added an apostrophe and seven more letters. Now the shirt proudly proclaimed, "I BELONG TO PAT'S MOTHER." But I didn't stop there. I zigzagged all the frayed seams, then had a friend mail the shirt in a fancy box to Mom from Arlington, VA. We enclosed an official looking letter from "The Institute for the Destitute," announcing that she was the recipient of an award for good deeds. I would have given anything to see Mom's face when she opened the box. But, of course, she never mentioned it.

Two years later, in 1978, I remarried. The day of our wedding, Harold and I put our car in a friend's garage to avoid practical jokers. After the wedding, while my husband drove us to our honeymoon suite, I reached for a pillow in the car to rest my head. It felt lumpy. I unzipped the case and found, wrapped in wedding paper, the yellow shirt. Inside a pocket was a note:
"Read John 14:27-29. I love you both, Mother." That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel room and found the verses: "I am leaving you with a gift: peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn't fragile like the peace the world gives. So don't be troubled or afraid. Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again. If you really love me, you will be very happy for me, for now I can go to the Father, who is greater than I am. I have told you these things before they happen so that when they do, you will believe in me."

The shirt was Mother's final gift. She had known for three months that she had terminal Lou Gehrig's disease. Mother died the following year at age 57. I was tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave. But I'm glad I didn't, because it is a vivid reminder of the love-filled game she and I played for 16 years. Besides, my older daughter is in college now, majoring in art. And every art student needs a baggy yellow shirt with big pockets.

“A true friend is someone who reaches for your hand and touches your heart.”

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Inuk*

"A person who works with their hands is a laborer,

A person who works with their hands & their brain is a craftsman,

A person who works with their brain & their heart ... is an Artist".

River Spirit

this is beautiful...it makes me want to look around and look at everything through new eyes. It was uplifting, too, because I just found out this morning that I have Type 2 Diabetes. But I have life, and that is what matters--living it, not wasting it. Thank you!

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"The Cleveland Indians are going to change their name. They don't want to be known as a team that perpetuates racial stereotypes. From now on they're just going to be called the Indians." - Native Comedian Vaughn Eaglebear, Colville/Lakota

Anishinaabe_Kwezanz

That was beautiful, I'm crying.

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"If dancing were any easier it would be called football."


Anonymous

Azhe'ni

Gosh darn it nt_inuk you made me all teary eyed..

NDNKIDZ

*sniff* wipes eyes.. thinking of you mom.. thanks nt_inuk...

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"I don't mind coming to work,
> But that eight hour wait to go home is a BITE."

lovestodance

Wait, let me get my gallon of tears out of the way!!!WOW! I am the father of four..my oldest daughter and second oldest (son)are artists...as I...that was a good story....I think i might have to share that with some people...we have a special blanket like that......(except for the using for stains! lol!!) :good&evil

bushy_braids

awww i lubbed this story... it made me feel all warm & fuzzy!

i guess that's like the saying "one man's junk is another man's treasure!"

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"i don't like to walk fast man - i like to strut!"

WocusWoman

thanks for sharing; now I'm missing my mom.

little wolf

That was very touching, thanks for sharing..

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nt_inuk

I think that it does our hearts good to be reminded once in awhile to see/appreciate and love what we do have, as you said, thru new eye's/ ...

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Inuk*

"A person who works with their hands is a laborer,

A person who works with their hands & their brain is a craftsman,

A person who works with their brain & their heart ... is an Artist".

wyo_rose

That was a GREAT story. (sniff, sniff)

Man, I bet Reader's Digest would pay good money to get it.