Today, 3 is not my favorite number

Today marks the third year from my Mother's passing. Three is normally my favorite number; but not today. Today 3 rises as a dark suffocating wave trying to bury me. I can't handle the time that is passing. I miss my Mom. I miss having her craziness and generosity sprinkle through my life. Last night, I cried myself asleep. I didn't want today to come. But it did. And I'm here. Without her.

Last night I slept in her old shirt and I wore it again today to work because I didn't want to take it off. It's faded, it's old, and even though it's not possible I sometimes think it smells like her closet. A closet that I used to love opening and feeling the soft material of faded and well used clothes. The smell carried powdery lotion, soft wood, fresh soap, and somehow memories.

My Mom's clothes were always used and abused. She had moccasins that were missing beads on the top. Dresses that never fit her shoulders. Pants that always had thread strings hanging off a seam. Her shirts were overly soft from use. The colors changed through time into muted blends. There were patches ironed onto thinning fabrics. Safety pins holding buttons in place. Tags that no longer held script because of wear. Lace with extra eyelets that were uneven with the pattern.

My mom never really cared about having new and up to date clothing. She always sacrificed for things she loved more; her family, her fun, and food.

Growing up I was always entertained with the newest board game or movie. I have many memories of going shopping with my Mom and buying ridiculous things that would entertain us for the weekend. We went out to eat with relish; we dined out almost as much as we dined in. She would buy trinkets for the grand kids. She lent/gave money to those who needed it. She bought gifts for the entire neighborhood during the holidays. She gave us updated summer and winter wardrobes every year.

My mom was a giver. Whether it be Easter eggs to every widow and spinster in the neighborhood or advise to a child unwilling to listen.

She gave everything. No one was left wanting when they were in company of my Mother. Today as I wear a raggedy faded t-shirt, I remember her generosity. I remember her need to help others. I remember her willingness to serve.

She didn’t just give me the shirt off her back, she gave me life. I wish I could share it with her.