The Baggy Yellow Shirt

The baggy yellow shirt had long sleeves, four extra-large pockets
trimmed in black thread and snaps up the front. It was faded from
years of wear, but still in decent shape. I found it in 1963 when I
was home from college on Christmas break, rummaging through
bags of clothes Mom intended to give away. "You're not taking that old
thing, are you?" Mom said when she saw me packing the yellow shirt. "I
wore that when I was pregnant with your brother in 1954!" "It's just
the thing to wear over my clothes during art class, Mom. Thanks!" I
slipped it into my suitcase before she could object. The yellow shirt
became a part of my college wardrobe. I loved it. After graduation, I
wore the shirt the day I moved into my new apartment and on Saturday
mornings when I cleaned. The next year, I married. When I became
pregnant, I wore the yellow shirt during big-belly days. I missed Mom
and the rest of my family, since we were in Colorado and they were in
Illinois . But that shirt helped. I smiled, remembering that Mother had
worn it when she was pregnant, 15 years earlier. That Christmas, mindful
of the warm feelings the shirt had given me, I patched one elbow,
wrapped it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom. When Mom wrote to thank
me for
her "real" gifts, she said the yellow shirt was lovely. She never
mentioned it again. The next year,my husband, daughter and I stopped
at Mom and Dad's to pick up some furniture. Days later, when we
uncrated the kitchen table, I noticed something yellow taped to its
bottom. The shirt! And so the pattern was set. On our next visit home,
I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and Dad's mattress.I don't know
how long it took for her to find it, but almost two years passed
before I discovered it
under the base of our living-room floor lamp. The yellow shirt was just
what I needed now while refinishing furniture. The walnut stains added
character. In 1975 my husband and I divorced. With my three children,
prepared to move back to Illinois . As I packed, a deep depression
overtook me. I wondered if I could make it on my own. I wondered if I
would find a job. I paged through the Bible,looking for comfort. In
Ephesians, I read, "So use every piece of God's armor to resist the
enemy
whenever he attacks, and when it is all over, you will be standing
up." I tried to picture myself wearing God's armor, but all I saw was
the stained yellow shirt. Slowly, it dawned on me. Wasn't my mother's
love a piece of God's armor? My courage was renewed. Unpacking in our
new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back to Mother. The next time I
visited her, I tucked it in her bottom dresser drawer. Meanwhile, I
found a good job at a radio station. A year later I discovered the
yellow shirt hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet. Something new
had been added. Embroidered in bright green across the breast pocket
were the words "I BELONG TO PAT." Not to be outdone, I got out my own
embroidery materials and added an apostrophe and seven more letters.
Now the shirt proudly proclaimed, "I BELONG TO PAT'S MOTHER." But I
didn't stop there. I zig-zagged all the frayed seams, then had a friend
mail the shirt in a fancy box to Mom from Arlington , VA. We enclosed
an official looking letter from "The Institute for the Destitute,"
announcing that she was the
recipient of an award for good deeds. I would have given anything to
see Mom's face when she opened the box. But, of course, she never
mentioned it. Two years later, in 1978, I remarried. The day of our
wedding, Harold and I put our car in a friend's garage to avoid
practical jokers. After the wedding, while my husband drove us to our
honeymoon suite, I reached for a pillow in the car to rest my head. It
felt lumpy. I unzipped the case and found, wrapped in wedding paper,
the yellow shirt.Inside a pocket was a note: "Read John 14:27-29. I
love you both, Mother." That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel
room and found the verses: "I am leaving you with a gift: peace of mind
and heart. And the peace I give isn't fragile like the peace the world
gives. So don't be troubled or afraid. Remember what I told you: I am
going away, but I will come back to you again. If you really love me,
you will be very happy for me, for now I can go to the Father, who is
greater than I am. I have told you these things before they happen so
that when they do, you will believe in me." The shirt was Mother's
final gift. She had known for three months that she had terminal Lou
Gehrig's disease. Mother died the following year at age 57. I was
tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave. But I'm glad I
didn't, because it is a vivid reminder of the love-filled game she and
I played for 16 years. Besides, my older daughter is in college now,
majoring in art. And every art student needs a baggy yellow shirt with
big pockets.