Scrapbook

My mom used to be craftsy. No, not crafty, craftsy. She liked to counter cross-stitch, and scrapbook (yes, all the truly craftsy people use “scrapbook” as a verb).

My friend suggested scrapbooking as an activity that my mom and I could share, now, even with her limitations. I’d do all the cutting, of course, but my mom could pick the colors, and the pictures, and tell me where to put things on the page, and maybe even use the glue. I suggested it to my mom today, and she thought it was a great idea. It’s a perfect combo of therapy and mother-daughter bonding.

After I suggested it, my mom started telling me about this scrapbook she had been making me, before the stroke. She told me that it was almost done, there were just a few things she needed to do, a few pictures and words she needed to add.

That scrapbook was out on the dining room table when I first got to my parents house, after my mom was settled in the ICU on the day of the stroke. It took me a few days to look at it, and realize it was for me. (Like I said, she was crafsty, and always making something or another. I didn’t think anything of having scrapbooking stuff out.)

When I finally sat down and flipped through the pages, and discovered she had put together a whole scrapbook, all about me, with pictures of me at birthday parties and graduations, on family trips and at school events, and all right before she had the stroke, I lost it. I flipped through the pages over and over again, taking in the pictures and memorizing her handwriting, with tears streaming down my face. Of all the amazing gifts she could have given me, this is the best.

I’m glad we still can finish it together. And maybe, if you're lucky, I'll show it to you sometime.