Posts Tagged Mother

Janet

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“Hi my name is Janet.

My mother was a phenomenal seamstress. She sewed anything that could be constructed: dresses, snowsuits, bathing suits, and once, a pop-up camper. As a teenager, she dreamed of becoming a fashion designer, but no one from Maine has ever done that, so she became my mom instead. She bought me my first pair of serious scissors and told me that they should last a lifetime. I keep her old scissors with mine. Somehow, seeing them together reminds me of all the hours we spent sitting side by side at her old Singer. Anyone who has known me for more than five minutes has heard a story about my son, Crockett. A couple of months after his first birthday, I was diagnosed with cancer. I remember sitting in the dark, holding him long after he had fallen asleep and thinking that if I died now, he wouldn’t remember me. He wouldn’t even know that I loved him. Maybe it’s hormones, but when your children are new, you love them with a ferocity that is overwhelming. But I didn’t die, and now Crockett is 17 and on his way to becoming a fashion designer. I know that some people probably think that I am too involved in his life, but they weren’t sitting in the dark with me 17 years ago. I love him with the same intensity of that long ago night, and I know that every second I spend with him is one that might never have happened. Not so long ago, I bought him his own pair of scissors. They should last a lifetime.”

Tidbit:
Three generations of scissors. Crockett’s appear on the right and someday they to will have the patina of his grandmother’s seen on the left.



Liz

“Hi my name is LIz,

My object is a 1970’s New York Times cookbook. The reason I choose it is because in my family most things revolve around food. If we don’t remember something about a trip or we don’t remember what we did, we always remember the restaurants in which we ate and the food that we really liked and the food that we didn’t like.

When I turned twenty-one my mother gave me this cookbook. She learned to cook with this same book shortly after she married my father in 1975. It was helpful because it was not only a way for us to forge a relationship over something that was so important to the both of us but it was also saying something about independence. As you move on in your life and you graduate school, you should know how to take care of yourself, so you should know how to cook.

Someday no one will use cookbooks because so many recipes are online, but this book is my history, so I think I will use it forever. But I don’t think I will be as good a cook as she is!”



Brett

“I’m Brett,

At age 11 I started to play field hockey, hoping to be as good as my two older sisters. What I didn’t realize at the time was just how much more this would mean for me. It took me out the classroom setting where my learning disablity often made me appear lazy or stupid.

My mom was the only person who seemed to know I was always trying my best. She would be at every game running up and down the sidelines with words of encouragement. When I entered the 9th grade I learned that after her 7 year battle with cancer, she was told it was terminal. As her health deteriorated, I would work harder and harder to improve my performance on field. Or at least that is what I told myself. Looking back I now realize it was the only way I knew how to deal with my mom being so sick and my fear of losing her.

She wasn’t able to be there when I received my undergraduate and graduate degrees. Nor did she get to see me play Division I Field Hockey and Division II Lacrosse, but one thing I know is that she would have been extremely proud of my success. Her endless stream of support will never be forgotten.

Tidbit:
In the summer of 2011 Brett summited Mount Kilimanjaro and raised $13,000.00 in memory of her mom to fight breast cancer for the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center. It’s never too late to help such an admirable cause. Just follow the link: http://getinvolved.fhcrc.org



Layla

“Hi my name is Layla,

I brought my childhood blanket. My mom got it for me when I was born and I have had ever since. Well not exactly. The first blanket was mistaken for a rag and used to clean my friend’s floors after I forgot to bring it home one day. Needless to say I was not very happy, it was my number one possession. What are the chances you are going to be able to find the exact same blanket in the exact same store four years after purchasing it? Well that’s what happened and with that little piece of luck my mother skirted a major meltdown that only a four year old can produce and I got my blanket back.”