Just Call Me Linus

About a month ago, I was at a Brookstone store and found a blanket that was probably the softest thing I'd felt in a long, long time. I'm a very tactile person who loves the feel of different textures, especially soft, cuddly ones. I am a pillow hugger -- just ask my counselor...I walk into her office, plop on the couch and grab a pillow to hug every single time -- and at 49 years of age I am not ashamed to say I have a stuffed lamb that I hold tightly in times of emotional pain, crisis and/or when I'm praying about hard stuff.

Agnus Dei, qui tolis peccata mundi, miserere nobis...dona nobis pacem.

Anyway, the blanket at Brookstone was dark brown and as soon as I put my fingers on it, I had the most visceral memory of being about five years old and rubbing my hands up and down my mother's full-length sable coat. I almost burst into tears. I kept rubbing the fabric, maybe subconsciously hoping a genie would appear and solve everything. I left the store without buying the blanket (a bit pricey for the budget at the moment) and made a mental note to put it on my birthday list (August 30, fyi).

Fast forward to now...I've been having some wonderful talks with my father-in-law, Harv (aka Pop) over the past couple of days. (I'm at my in-laws' house for 10 days to help out during my mother-in-law's recovery from knee replacement surgery; she comes home from the hospital tomorrow...hurray!) Somewhere in the midst, I told Pop the story about the blanket. We were at a mall today (he took me to a lovely lunch at Nordstrom's!) and he says, "Ann and I have a tradition that before we leave this mall we always have to go take a look at Brookstone." I said, "Great! That means I can probably touch that blanket again!" without thinking for a minute that this was some kind of ruse. After all, Brookstone is a very cool store, and they always have new and interesting things to look at.

So we go into the store, and I make a beeline for that blanket. "There it is!" And it was the same as before...dark brown, soft as sable, and made me think of my mother, who hasn't spoken to me (nor I to her) in over five years. (Long, painful story.) Pop asked the clerk how much they cost, and I sighed wistfully and said "I need to put this on my birthday list" and the next thing I know, he's picked one up and tells me he's going to get me an early birthday present. I was so overwhelmed by his kindness; never one to be shy about expressing myself, I threw my arms around him and kissed him right in the middle of the store. It was only later, at the hospital when I was recounting all of this to Ann (aka Mom), that Pop fessed up and told me he'd been plotting this as soon as I'd told him the story.

I love surprises (good ones, anyway). I am so grateful for what Pop did; I feel delighted, blessed, and really loved. And also a bit trepidatious, because I know what I know, and I can't not know it: some hard inner work lies ahead for me with that blanket. I'm going to have to hold onto it tightly while it brings up stuff I'm not sure I'm quite ready to deal with. However, God's timing is always impeccable, and I trust Him. And I will wait. (See previous blog post.)

But I need to say this, and I have a lump in my throat as I do:

I miss my mother.

(to be continued...)