She was cinched around my waist,

red elastic
hugging ribs
and abdomen
and the part of my gut
where I tend to feel all my feelings,

and her.

I didn’t think I would bring her last weekend.

I thought there would be
too much to do,
too many problems that would need to be solved,
too many worries that would need to be stressed about.

I had made up my mind.
There would be too much muchness,
so no,
Mom,
I can’t deal with my stuff right now.

I stood before a bag of
tossed-in clothes,
head spinning with
Will I be enough?
and
You don’t have time to feel.

Yet,
like a child too tired to continue
the journey home,
I set down
my fistful of
tights
and toothbrush,
got on my knees
and closed my eyes.

I slid my fingers
over the dusty lip of
a dresser drawer.
The bottom one.
The broken one.

This drawer isn’t opened often.
It holds things that don’t belong to me.
Most times,
it’s easier to pretend
it isn’t there.

I held my breath,
gripped the edge,
and starred down
the contents of that drawer that called to be opened.
What I saw was
red.

I pulled it out,
– red elastic screaming of the 80s –
a belt
that had once hugged my mother’s hips,
the final touch on outfits for Christmas parties
and picnics
and days of just-because-it’s-fun-to-wear-something-wild.

My cheeks blushed.
You were always glamorous,
Mom.

Most days,
I’m quite the opposite.
I could wear the same outfit four days in a row
and not care.

Maybe you were like that once, too,
Mom.
And maybe you weren’t.
But you were always so beautiful,
Mom.
You always were.

It’s kind of funny to think that
there was a time when
I, your little girl,
was pretty sure
I wasn’t pretty,

because how could feeling abandoned
feel beautiful?

Snap out of it,
Taylor.

You don’t have time to feel.

I wanted to stand up,
to keep on with efficiency
and schedule,
but,
there was
red
clutched in my hands.

Maybe this red would be okay,
just to place
in my bag,
and carry,
even if it’s just to touch,
to feel its thin chords
and fuzzy edges
and chipped center.

Maybe that kind of feeling this weekend will be
ok.

Saturday morning came,
before the sun rose.
I tucked my fingers around
top and skirt,
tights and shoes.

As I grabbed the last items of black and white formality,
there was red,

there was you.

I got dressed,
washing face
and combing hair
and putting deodorant on for possibly the second time.

But red
caught my eye
and I couldn’t stop myself from thinking,

Maybe you’d like to come to the conference with me,
Mom…

I sat down
on untucked sheets
and a mass of pillows.

Here we go,
the unplanned.

Mom,
I know you can’t be here,
but I would really like it if you could.

I just want you with me today,
so the sun could warm our backs,
and we could hold hands,
and people might even ask if we were sisters,
and we’d laugh
and look at each other
and know
deep
love.

Mom,
I know you can’t be here,
but if you don’t mind,
I’m going to take you with me, today.
I need to do today
with you.

I reached for red.

Your beginning
and end
rested on my rough palms.
I slid you around
my waist,
tarnished buckle on the first notch.

I closed my eyes,
feeling my center.

It buzzed
and hummed
with your smile
and bombshell energy.
It made me giggle.

I looked in the mirror

and there you were,

arms wrapped around me,
squeezing me,
pressing me.

Your love was fastened
to my core

like the days when you
held me at your side
when I didn’t know what cancer was,
and why it was in you,
and if you’d be there tomorrow

like the days when you
knelt down
and tickle-attacked me
till I howled mercy
and nearly wet my pants

like the day when you
reached up
and touched me
for the last time.

Mom,
you’ve been gone
for a while,
and some days

it feels too long.

But last Saturday,
you could not have been closer.

Last weekend,
everyone I spoke with
got to meet you, too.

Even if it was only for 24 hours,
your smile
became infused with mine.

Your feet
slid into my shoes.

We didn’t walk.
No,
we danced.

We held hands
and hugged
and stitched together the seams of heaven and earth.

It was the kind of gift
that could only be given
by a Heavenly Father
who knows the desires of my heart
more than even I do.

No,
no one knew
that they were meeting you,

but I know they felt you.
I just do.

I saw it in their smiles,
and their hugs,
the way people welcomed me,
and spoke to me.
I swear,
some people even looked at me
like a mother looks at her child.

They felt you, Mom,
and me,
and Him.

For as I raised my hands
and closed my eyes,
all I could feel
was you
cinched around my waist,
around my gut,
where I tend to feel all my feelings
and you.