I’ve mentioned before how enamored I’ve grown with the house dresses my mama used to call dusters. She loved those things like damn and whoa and after she died we found dozens of them in her room. She loved nothing better than to receive them as gifts for any and all occasions. Now I know why she liked them so much; they’re cool, lightweight and most importantly, THEY HAVE POCKETS! Big, roomy pockets. Let me tell you, when you’re doing your last once over, picking up kid’s stuff before bed, big pockets are a lifesaver.
Anyway, I picked up a couple today, and mentioned to the cashier how much my mama loved them. She got teary eyed and said every time someone buys one she thinks about her mama too. We talked for several minutes until both of us got too choked up to continue. It’s been a while since this happened. The Christmas after she died I collapsed on the floor sobbing in Kmart, blubbering over their Christmas display. My mama loved Christmas; decorating with so many lights our house could be mistaken for an alternate airport runway.
It’s been fourteen years y’all and it seems like just yesterday I could pick up the phone and call her anytime I wanted. It still hurts. I feel like a motherless child, because I am one.