I allowed Brit access to my blog so that she could share a bit about the quilt that she has spent a good part of the last 12 months creating for me. If you click over to her blog, you can piece together more of her experience mixed in with the many posts on her adorable family, being a mommy, a wife, a runner, etc. Now that Brit has posted her story, I thought I’d write about the same quilt from my side.

In some ways, it seems like a long time since I handed Brit the bag of Tom’s clothing.

I selected my favorite shirts of his:

• The one that he wore on many a special occasion.
• The one that was amazingly soft and made his amazing blue eyes stand out.
• The one he wore to spread Papa’s ashes — which I slobbered all over when he held me to cry.

There are so many memories with each piece of clothing. One never thinks of things like this – until something like this happens. Believe me; going through the closets and drawers of your deceased husband is no easy task. Having a year to do work up to the task was just about right.

Deep in the bowels of that closet, I came across a few items of clothing that were long forgotten. For the life of me, I have no idea why he kept these things, but I am glad that he did. Among them, was a jean jacket that Tom had worn when we were first dating and he was of anorexic proportion. I sometimes wore it when we were out on a date and it got cold. There was also the tee shirt which I had given to Tom when the boys and I visited Lisa in Washington after she moved away. YaYa was 2 and BoBo was 8 years old at the time. In that closet, there were a few other treasures, and many items I considered “junk.” And I shed a whole lot of tears.

But it wasn’t tears on the day that we met for the handoff. Instead, it was filled with much laughter and hope. Brit, Mia and I picked up right where we had left off the year before, filling in the gaps-not-blogged and basking in the friendship built across the blogosphere. That’s how it is with blogger meet ups.

I also got to meet Mr. Running Stitch, who was charming and funny in a way that reminds me a lot of Tom. So when he got cold, it was without hesitation that I insisted he put on one of Tom’s shirts to warm up. True to form our meet-up extended well into the evening. I must admit, he wore it well. We exchanged hugs, and then I cried in the MommyVan as I watched them walk off with that bag of memories.

And then I waited…

[Read more…]

As I turn the clocks forward, I think back to this time last year. I was so consumed with the tough task at hand that I was unaware of the time change until well after noon. Talk about losing an hour. I had one less hour to generate the courage and words to tell my son that I was sending him away. So excuse me if I have no sympathy for those who complain about an hour less sleep on a Saturday night.

I remember that day so vividly: the look on B’s face, and the pain in his voice as he vowed to never speak to me again. All I could say in response was, “I love you.” It hurt me so badly. I can only imagine the pain that B felt, or YaYa for that matter. And all this fell just weeks before the 1st anniversary of Tom’s death.

A year later, I find the act of turning the clocks ahead symbolic of the forward motion in each of our lives. We’ve made so much progress. We’ve endured in spite of the tough times. And B has spoken to me.

An hour may not amount to much but tonight, for me, it amounts to a whole lot. Every day, every hour, I try to remember that I am blessed. There are no guarantees that any of us will wake tomorrow morning. Waking an hour earlier or later means nothing, given this perspective.

I admit, I will be out of sorts come Monday when the alarm will go off in darkness once more and dinner time will sneak up on us without warning. I am simply trying to view this change in a more positive way. I can rejoice instead, if only I count my blessings in having another “tomorrow” to enjoy the many gifts I’ve been given. What’s more, it’s here an hour earlier.