In this time of sorrow

We are reminded, none of us get out alive

Yet, I treasure the belief

We will all survive.

On my last visit seeing Mom,

she had a shawl draped over her thin shoulders,

I said, “So beautiful, Mom.”

“Yes, Son, I love the color.”

“Yes, Mom, a beautiful sky blue.”

“The other day a young woman came to my room, opened a box, and took out the shawl. She said members of her church crochet prayer shawls and asked if I would accept this Shawl of Hope, with our love and prayers. Now, Son, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I know, Mom, but you always said I was the sensitive one in spite of a gruff exterior.”

“I said that?”

“I wrote it in my diary.”

“You and that diary…can’t get away with anything!”

“Nope got it all on paper and I can have your son, my brother Stephen the lawyer notarize it if you’d like.”

“That’s alright, John. I’m sure, my children, Denise, Brian, Keven, Patricia, and Karen will testify to your integrity.”

“Patricia, I’m not so sure about but the rest yes….what church, Mom?”

“Holy Angels.”

“Okay, we’ll make a donation in your name.”

“All our names, John.”

“Okay, Mom.”

Mom looked at me with tears and asked me to come closer and in a whisper said,

“I am being warmed by the loving hands responsible for each entwined strand of wool. The shawl is blessed with hope and its warmth keeps fear out in the cold.”

“That is beautiful, Mom. Can I write that down?”

“You know you will even if I say no.”

“Sorry, Mom, some things need to be written down.”

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