In high school, my senior class took an end of year trip to Hawaii. One shiny night, our grade level leader announced to us girls that we had a special surprise from our mothers. On the verge of our graduating high school, she had asked them to write us letters. As my classmates opened pretty envelopes, I opened a pretty book my mother stitched together with pieces of my childhood. Antique buttons from my grandmother’s dresses when she was just a girl. Pieces of Blanky, my favorite quilt featuring the entire cast of Bambi as sewn by a favorite aunt upon my arrival in this world.
Understand that my mother was once kicked out of a sewing class and offered a full refund when she stood up at the end of an exercise and realized she had sewn the sample she was working on to her skirt. Yet years later, she did it. She sewed something. She sewed it for me.
Other than my kid sister who I had to wait 23 years for, this is the best present my mother ever gave me. Not just because of the love that went into this project or the poetry she put inside, but because of the time in my life at which it was presented to me. Everything was yet to be written. Everything was full of promise. Everything was golden. This book embodies all of that. As well as the hope and the love my mother has for me.