She was arrested for speeding in the fabric store.
Ok, to be honest, she really wasn’t arrested for speeding in the fabric store.
Just pulled over and warned.
Ok, that’s not true either.
Here’s what happened.
It was approaching Christmas a year ago and my wife of 50 years wanted to crochet a blanket for our daughter who was born on Christmas Day so many years ago and seemingly in another lifetime as I think back on it now.
My wife was in failing health due to a ravaging return of cancer and getting about was becoming more difficult.
I had built a railing for her to navigate the few stairs to the porch that served as the entry to our home, and whether going up or down those stairs she would slide her hand along the railing but with her other hand she always held mine.
I would have gladly held her hand at the fabric store too but she wanted to try their motorized shopping cart.
Watching her initial attempts was, to me, hilarious.
Reverse was problematic so I had backed it out for her and then she took my place and put the scooter in forward.
That’s when the trouble – for her, and hilarity – for me, began.
Fortunately, there was evidently a speed governor on the thing but even so not a few aisles suffered from her initial collisions before she let off on the speed lever.
I would laugh, pick up whatever had fallen from the shelves, and otherwise follow her around the store, generally policing the place.
It was then I spotted the real police guy, a security guard, and asked if he would ‘arrest’ my wife for speeding. He agreed and my wife dutifully sighed at yet another goofy request from her husband, and there you have the rest of the story.
Almost.
With the purchases of yarn from that store, and with her own hands, my wife made that Christmas gift blanket for our daughter born on Christmas Day.
It would be her last Christmas with us, and thus her last gift.
Almost.
In the last portrait taken of my wife’s hands clasping the arm and hand of our daughter that day in our home that she left us, there are no diamonds in my wife’s ring.
That’s because there was one more gift from my wife to our three daughters.
One day approaching the end, one of my wife’s sisters was visiting and for some reason no one else was home. Quietly, and unbeknownst to any of us, my wife removed her wedding ring and gave it to her sister, quietly whispering instructions.
The three diamonds were then made into three necklaces, one for each of the girls.
To remember their mom’s love for them.
To be worn close to their heart.
Her final gift.
Your stories touch my heart. I’m sitting her with tears in my eyes for the love you have for your wife. True love! My condolences to you and your family for your loss. May your memories keep you going.
Thank you so much Patti. I have trouble seeing the keyboard when I write of my most precious treasure, but I cannot help writing about her. I suppose it’s my therapy. When the pictures scrolled by of her life at her memorial, I requested one of the songs to be played “I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You.” It’s a good thing we had a dry run the night before because I had a great deal of difficulty emotionally throughout. My memories are many and they do keep me going. And writing. Thank you!
Your wife’s hands, Mr. Anderson, were beautiful. They appear to be very smooth, soft and free from ‘age spots.’
I think hands are one of the loveliest parts of a body. A woman’s hand’s, especially, hold a loved one’s hand. They hold babies, burp, feed, change diapers, wipe tears, comb and arrange hair, paint toes and nails when wee ones play dress up. They’re hands pick up grocery store items and unpack the food and cook and serve it every day to hungry families. Their hands plant gardens and harvest crops to save for longer colder days. They wipe noses and rub achy bodies of their loved ones. Their hands steer cars for thousands of miles to and from school, church, sports practices and games, doctor and dentist appointments, music lessons and scout troop meetings. They clean up before and after events, sew clothes, wash clothes and fold them and put them away. They work at all kinds of jobs helping to support their families. Their hands calm elderly parents with a soft loving touch and help manage the multiple needs of their spouse, children and parents. All of this work becomes very visible in the aging hands of a beloved spouse, but I have seen how hands seem to get more beautiful as one approaches the end of life. Hands become smoother and softer and clear of lines and wrinkles and thick veins. I have always wondered what kind of work God has waiting for us in heaven-jobs that that will require refreshed and “newish” hands. Your wife’s hands, Mr. Anderson, we’re certainly renewed and ready to take on any task God have her. Your picture is one you and your family will treasure long into the future.
Though I don’t know you by name, I want to thank you so much for your beautiful, beautiful description of a woman’s hands. Just so tender. I am writing a book and think your portrayal of beautiful hands would be a wonderful inclusion. I wouldn’t mind either at all citing my source! So, if you see this, let me know your name here or perhaps you’d rather send an email to communitymattersweb@gmail.com. Thank you so much again for your beautiful description of beautiful hands!
Beautiful and funny. Speed policing in a craft store – you have to come up with something like that … I am still giggling, though the circumstances why are certainly not laughable.
Gifts … now, these are truly coming from the heart, and you had me choke at the final one.
You did it again, David, and showed us how close laughter and tears can be be together. And how true love embraces both.
Have a blessed Advent weekend.
Thank you so much also Susanne. As I replied to one of the other commenters above, I have trouble seeing what I’m writing as tears often get in the way. Laughter helps. What happened in the fabric store is accurate, right down to me trailing her throughout the store returning to the shelves what had been displaced through collision. What a precious treasure was my wife, gifting our girls even after she was gone.
Dear Kar
Is there someone forcing you to read these memories and stories? If so, make them stop.
You are such an unhappy person, and I feel sorry for you, but please, take your misery elsewhere. Your criticism is hurtful, not constructive.
Thank you Rondi for your words. Sometimes when we put ourselves out there, bare our heart and soul, we are exposed to that which can be hurtful and that pain, that misunderstanding, those slings and arrows do damage, no question. But the risk is worth it if so many are helped in their own processing of grief.
THANKS David; a Keeper Story, well told, … with evidence, no less. Until this, we never thought of a fabric store as a hazardous place or an amusement park, or a store of cherished memory, yarning to be shared.
Thank you Bob. Generally speaking, I think fabric stores are safe places. But, that being said, there was that day my wife wanted to navigate on her own. So funny. And one of our kids’ favorite stories, both laughter and tears.
You have once again made me smile through tears as I read your beautiful (and amusing) memory. I too noticed what lovely hands your wife had, and to think of her final gift of love makes me tear up again. Warmest wishes to you and your family.
Thank you Randi. Tears as I write, tears as I read what I wrote. Hands I wish, oh, how I wish, I still held. Blessings to you as well!