My mom and I did not always see eye to eye. There was a time when she tried to draw the line for her wild child. Once with her foot she drew an invisible line and said, “Holly don’t cross this line!” Of course I looked her right in the face and without a word stepped over it, with a loud stomp. Then the two of us went rolling on the ground. I am laughing now but then it was not so funny.
When I brought home my first tattoo on my left arm she said, “Oh how nice.” Then she wet her finger with her tongue and said, “OK, this isn’t coming off?” I had to tell her it was permeate before she gave me the look.
When I was much younger she would spank me with a rolled up newspaper on my butt. My older sister told me that this frustrated our mom because I could not be phased and would laugh.
What she did teach me was unconditional love even though I wished she would have spent more time with me.
I witnessed her love of baseball, flowers and my dad. I followed her deep love of flowers. She told me never to stop painting them or writing my poetry and stories.
My mother knitted and crocheted. I write in the past tense here because I lost her around three years ago. It is what she gave me then that comforts me now. She created for me three blankets.
These blankets are in my house every day. They are mostly on our living room couch. They are over the couch or me or my children. I hold them bunched up in a pillow for comfort on times of sadness. My cats knead them and purr, but I move them away. These are my Golden Fleece from my mom.