An obsession with pajamas

I spent last week working on the finishing touches on mom's Mother's Day gift and it was during a quiet moment alone in the garage that I found myself thinking, to you specifically, that this gift was definitely going to win me a place as "favorite daughter" with mom. It was another one of those 'A ha!' moments that I had to stop and remind myself that I would no longer get to enjoy our not so friendly competition between us. But I laughed anyway, not at the future lack of competition with you, but at all the memories of how silly we were for even trying to 'win' favorite daughter.  How could either of us be favored in our mother's heart? That is ridiculous, but it didn't keep us from trying regardless.

There was a time last year in which we were standing in my kitchen and we were talking about what to do for mom's gift, perhaps the impending Christmas holiday and the gifts that we planned to get. *Sidebar: Chelsea was too cheap to get anyone gifts for ANY holiday and often rode the coat tails of whichever sibling or relative had the best gift for said person. If she did give you a gift, you would have most definitely called into question where she got it and then quickly checked your own stash of belongings, because that is probably where it came from.* In this conversation we were again arguing over who would be giving mom the best gift and who would become the coveted 'favorite kid'. I remember telling you not to worry because I was pretty sure that you already held that title and had for quite some time. I began laughing when you turned to me and said that mom held me on a pedestal and that I was untouchable with the favored title. I started laughing again but as I turned to see your face, I realized that you truly believed what you were saying. I quickly reassured you that was the most ridiculous thing to say and that mom probably loved us both the same but tended to show better to you, 'her little toy poodle', as I often dubbed you. The argument went from who was the favorite child to who was the more neglected one. I laugh even now thinking how sad we both were in these pathetic moments of self-pity. But it was during this conversation that you told me that you remembered when you were four and we all used to leave you at home alone all the time! HA! I asked what movie that you pulled that load of crap off of and your reply was a classic 'Chelsea' response: "What? It's true, I remember that!" Your non-memories were always so comedic and could always make me laugh. You proceeded to argue that you remembered being alone when you were four years old and that you remembered having to "scrummage" for food or wait until we all came back. I wish I could have had just a little of whatever it was that you were taking, because your delusions were out of this world. *Sidebar: Chelsea was NEVER left alone when she was four....we didn't start doing that until she was at least 5 and half ;)*

I made mom a quilt out of your pajamas for Mother's Day, a project I have had in the works since the week after you died. Mom and I had gone to your room to collect some things that she wanted to take and, in true Chelsea manor, you had clothes spread every where and Girl Scout Cookies in the bed. We started looking through some of the drawers, terrified of what we would find ;), and discovered your amazing collection of pajama bottoms. There must of have been 20 pairs of pajamas in there. I lovingly folded them and took them with me with the idea of a quilt in mind. I was shown a tutorial at work, the week after, providing step by step instructions on how to easily put together a strip quilt. But for whatever reason, I never started the project. I figured Mother's Day was a world away and I haven't been overwhelmed with motivation lately, so I put it off. I only started turning your beloved PJs into shredded fabric about 3 weeks ago, and even then it was a struggled effort that I just couldn't get my heart into. There was even one evening that I had to stop because of the overwhelming wave of emotion that I got when stripped your pajamas into shreds of clothing. I literally stopped mid cut, pulled a chair outside of the garage door, and sat with my face in my hands and sobbed. When Jared approached, terrified of the possibility that my sadness was a result of his actions, I looked up and simply replied, "I hate cutting her clothing up; this means she is gone." But as Mother's day week fell upon the calender, I put aside the emotions and turned it into my mission.

I started thinking about a few months ago when I was getting Reagan ready for a spend the night party, you were hanging around the house, as usual. As I was getting her bag ready, I asked her to pick out some pajamas to take. Being Reagan, she naturally went for the extra large Braves shirt that her dad had given her. She went for her comfort zone. As she was about to stuff the shirt in the overnight bag, you quickly stepped in. As you sat her down on her bed, you, in your most 'caring' voice explained the importance of wearing the 'right pair' of pajamas at sleepovers. You explained that she couldn't bring a yucky tshirt, that she had to bring a 'pretty' pair of PJs. She of course argued for the sake of comfort but eventually gave into your choice of sleepwear of pink 'silk'. Do you know to this day, her favorite thing to wear to sleep in is a chiffon dress that I bought for her to wear to church? I laugh every time I go to tuck her in and that is what she is wearing. I only hope that she remembers that moment when you passed on your sleepover etiquette to her.

After I had finished the quilt and survived Mother's Day, I came home and thought of why it was that I struggled to finish that quilt. I know now it was because of the finality of cutting up items of your wardrobe. By cutting them up, I knew you would never wear them again and that was a confirmation of the events that are still very dreamlike to me. It meant that I would need to be pulled from that state and into one of reality. It confirmed what I already knew but couldn't bring myself to accept; that there would never be another sisterly competition for 'best kid' on Mother's Day.

I wrote mom a letter to go with her quilt, for several reasons, but mainly because there were so many things that I needed to tell her and let her know what amazing person she is to have raised four amazing people, especially you and seeing the amazing impact you have made in so many lives, but mainly because I needed her to remember the 3 hearts that still beat because of her, while there is nothing that I can do to ease her pain, I can only hope to absorb majority of it. That no matter how many days I struggle through and no matter how many painful memories I experience, I will never know the extreme heartache that both of your parents feel every day. I know that whatever amount of pain I feel daily, it is only a small fraction of what they feel.

So instead of a competition, I wrote to mom and told her that any time she feels sad, lonely, confused, angry, hurt, or lost that she could take the quilt, created from pieces of you by my hands, and know that she could wrap the quilt around her and feel both of our love and support wrapping their arms around her.