An old friend sent me a package yesterday. She is my friend now, but for many years, and many years ago, she was one of my mom's best friends. She was with my mom during her divorce, she was with my mom when my mom got sick, and she was with me and my brothers when my mom died. And after my mom's death, as we were moving and cleaning, she and others of my mom's best friends, made sure to collect certain things for me and my brothers. For when we were older. For when we were adults ourselves. For when we were ready.
Over the years I've gotten photos in the mail from when I was young. I've gotten letters and recipes and sweaters and jewelry. These items come to me and my brothers at various times, seemingly without rhyme or reason. Without asking or even knowing to ask. These items from the past come back - for a moment, for a delicious moment- of remembering.
So yesterday in the mail came a package to me, from this dear friend. Inside was a notebook, and a letter from a much younger me to my mom welcoming her home from the hospital. And journal entries from my mom detailing the very first days of her illness. There are 3 entries. Only 3. But she details in them how she felt and what she learned and how scared she was and how much she had to lose. She speaks of my brothers and me. She speaks of her life and her fight. She speaks from the page to me, to us, now.
My mom signed each entry "Love, Marcia" so that whoever read the page would hear her voice. As I know I do with each word she wrote. What a gift I was given by our friend and by my mom. All these years later, where an eternity has gone by and also no time at all.
This is the life.
Love,
Allison
Over the years I've gotten photos in the mail from when I was young. I've gotten letters and recipes and sweaters and jewelry. These items come to me and my brothers at various times, seemingly without rhyme or reason. Without asking or even knowing to ask. These items from the past come back - for a moment, for a delicious moment- of remembering.
So yesterday in the mail came a package to me, from this dear friend. Inside was a notebook, and a letter from a much younger me to my mom welcoming her home from the hospital. And journal entries from my mom detailing the very first days of her illness. There are 3 entries. Only 3. But she details in them how she felt and what she learned and how scared she was and how much she had to lose. She speaks of my brothers and me. She speaks of her life and her fight. She speaks from the page to me, to us, now.
My mom signed each entry "Love, Marcia" so that whoever read the page would hear her voice. As I know I do with each word she wrote. What a gift I was given by our friend and by my mom. All these years later, where an eternity has gone by and also no time at all.
This is the life.
Love,
Allison
Allison, Chicken Soup will be seeking angel stories this year, write this up, as surely this woman is your angel on earth!
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