(no subject)
well college is going good
i miss everyone tho
The Yellow shirt
The baggy yellow shirt had long sleeves, four extra-large pockets
trimmed in black thread and snaps up the front. It 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, I 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.