LABOR OF LOVE

I remember it like it was yesterday. Forty three years ago today, my Dad who was a ship's officer died at the age of forty seven in a faraway land. My Mom was left with a mortgage, two kids and the need to find a job in a hurry. By September, Mom was teaching elementary school in the community I grew up in. At night, after correcting papers and making lesson plans I remember her sewing, knitting or needlepointing. Mom is artistic and creative. I like to think I got that gene from her. For years she knitted watch caps and donated them to an organization that distributed them to sailors. Of course she did this to remember my father. I recall the day, some twenty years ago that she decided to participate in a church project--needlepointing kneelers. She wanted to do this in my father's memory and was determined that it depict a ship and the sea. It took her months. Because her breathing is so compromised she hasn't been inside the church in years and for me it has been even longer. Today, I went there to see if her labor of love was still there. It is.