I wrote this piece in May of 2008, and it never found a home. This morning I pulled a load of laundry out of the dryer and noticed a loose button on my daughter’s shorts. I thought, I better sew this back on before it gets lost. I set the shorts aside and suddenly remembered this bit of writing. It’s a conflation of memory and a chunk of one of the “firsts” after a loss. I think it’s true. But memory and grief and regret often weave their own distinct narrative. A wish for something different.
BUTTONS
Sewing all the buttons.
I’ve sewn dozens of buttons back onto shirtsleeves, sweaters, and even doll clothes. And of course there is the inevitable “Mom, the button fell off again!”
One such call to arms came from my daughter last night, “Mom, the button fell off my shorts.” So I said, “put them on my desk. I’ll get to it later.” Then the wailing started, “But Mooom, I want to wear them tomorrow. I’m going with so-and-so to such-and-such a place after school. Mom, I need these shorts. Please Mom… are you even listening to me, Mom?” For god’s sake, how could I not be listening?
So I sat down in my office to sew this button back onto my daughter’s favorite pair of shorts. I started to cry. The more I tried to control myself, the more tears rolled down my cheeks. I tried to wipe my face and of course smeared make-up on my daughter’s shorts. Great. Now I had to wash them too. I grabbed a Kleenex to wipe my nose and cheeks.
I thought, “What is your story?” I was so irritated with myself. I wanted to get this done quickly so I could get back to my writing, but I could not pull myself together. More tears. More make-up running down my face… and suddenly it occurred to me what was happening.
We have lived with my parents for the last eight years – ever since my daughter was four years old. She was born in San Diego. As she approached school age, and since most of my family was still in Phoenix, we decided to move back to the desert. I know what you’re thinking – visit… and suck up the school situation like the rest of us in the state of California! Yeah, we know.
There was another reason we wanted to come back to Phoenix. My mother had been suffering with Multiple Sclerosis for nearly 30 years, and we wanted to be closer to her. When the opportunity to live with them came along, we just couldn’t pass it up. So, here we are with no ocean, no marine layer, and no freeway system. But at least it hits nearly 120 degrees every year, so we have that to look forward to!
Last night, while I sat there holding the needle and thread, the tears started to make sense to me. Since we moved back, my mother did all the mending. Mom sewed all the buttons. I lost my mother nine months ago. Not from complications related to MS, but because she was consumed by cancer. Mom lived two weeks from diagnosis to death.
Sobbing, I realized that though I miss my mom every day, and I can still smell her perfume, and hear her laugh, I need to let her go. I needed to sew this button for my daughter, tears and all, and let my heart… and my mom… rest. Now it’s my turn… to sew all the buttons.
