It’s no secret that my mother and I were not especially close in her later years. We started out that way, though, having a common enemy in Harold. He was the abusive husband and father who demoralized her with his fits of rage and turned me into an overachieving, codependent, people-pleaser.
She unexpectedly passed away last September. I think she was proud of me, yet surprised by my career path. I didn’t end up with lots of kids, make magnets for the refrigerator and knit. My DNA steered me towards writing, sales, and whatever it is I do all day.
It’s quite a process to go through a dead persons things, especially when it’s your mother. Finding that chapstick in a blazer pocket just about sent me over the edge. Her bottles of cologne, her makeup, funny socks with ladybugs on them…these things bring her into the room with me.
She was born on a family farm and led a small town life. In her earlier years, she was an amazing seamstress. Her creative streak was strong and while not working in fine silks or exotic fabrics, she found ways to express herself, and I think it helped her deal with the scars of domestic violence.
This doll furniture is made of plastic canvas and yarn. My daughter loved it. Hopefully my granddaughter will appreciate it, too.
Happy Mothers Day, Mom.