It made me uneasy as I cut into the hem, the scissors traveling across what seemed like oceans of sparkling blue fabric, and with each turn, my mind wandered back to all the times she wore the peacock shirt.
It was her favorite among many, and as my hands shook while ripping away the sleeves, my eyes filled with tears remembering a New Year’s Eve not too long ago. I dressed the table with shades of blue hydrangeas and will never forget the flickering of candlelight in her face as she laughed like a child well into the midnight hour.
That was back when the score was still Peggy – 1, Cancer – 0.
The hot glue burned my fingertips more than a few times while I sat by myself for days pinning, bunching, manipulating patterns of peacock feathers with my hands, pausing only to snack on orange slices, which were her favorite, too. Time was of the essence for I knew the week of Christmas would be spent in New York City, and that left only a few mornings to finish my surprise. I spent those mornings trimming ribbons, gluing white hair and painting faces because, after all, it was a top secret mission. All the remnants of thread, glitter and glue sticks had to vanish by the time my workshop filled with others each day.
By the end, I was quite proud of myself and couldn’t help but think she was looking down from Heaven, nodding with approval. As I fussed over the small details — posing the hands, getting the eye color perfect, I remembered the first day she wore her new peacock shirt. I made a fuss over it, naturally, but she was a bit discombobulated (her word, not mine) that it might be too much with all the bright colors in the feathers. Against her white hair, sparkling blue eyes and contagious smile, nothing was ever too much.
We grew to love it, but mostly loved seeing her in it with her black jeans and shoes with the ankle straps. Most sick folks seem sick. Often, by sheer force of will, she did not, and for a quick moment now and then we almost forgot.
It sat in a box for a while along with the blue and yellow scarf she wore last Christmas, the colors of the sun on the ocean my Chris always said, and a few of her other most precious things. Then it became peacock angels for a brother and a sister who got a new guardian angel this year. I wish you could have seen the smiles on Christmas Eve when those two boxes wrapped in blue bows were opened to reveal two very special handmade angels clothed in her shirt and born from love, just like everything our mother ever gave us.
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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