One Year Later

Prepare for a completely weird, extremely long and kind of sad story about my mom:

At the moment, I'm working on a quilting project that I started over a year ago that's finally coming to life. My mom actually began the design with me a few months before she passed away, so I've shelved it for a while due to some pretty obvious circumstances.
Now, if you knew mother, you knew her fabric collection: it was MASSIVE. There honestly was more fabric in her studio than most people will ever use in their lifetime. When she died, I took about 1/3 of it and the rest of was given to friends and family that shared her love of sewing. It doesn't seem like a lot, but 1/3 of a crap-ton of fabric is still a CRAP-TON OF FABRIC. So it's filling my back studio, my closets, my drawers, my shelves - it's everywhere.
However, despite all this fabric that I now own, I was short on a color I really needed. And as any quilter/sewer knows - you can never have enough fabric.
This morning I made the long trek out to Fabric Depot to finish out my blue collection. When I used to make this same trek, I would drive my mom out there in her Honda and we'd make an afternoon of it. There would be lists and color samples to look for, coupons to take advantage of, coffee and pastries to fuel the endeavor, homemade bags that were emptied for impending yardage. We would fawn over expensive upholstery fabric and flip through dress patterns we wish we could have an excuse to make and buy chocolate-hazelnut cookies for the ride home. It was oddly special and one of my favorite activities to do with her. If you had the chance to shop at ANY fabric store with mom, you'll understand - it was ear-to-ear smiles the whole time. 
When I got there at 9:30am, the store was pretty empty. Overwhelmed, I walked right into the middle of the Quilting Cottons section and put my hands on my head - what the hell was I doing here? Apparently, my look of desperation came across, because a woman in her 60's/70's (who was not an employee, mind you) walked up to me to ask if I was alright:

Lady: Excuse, miss, are you lost?
Me: Oh, no, no, I'm fine. Thank you. Just contemplating.
Lady: Alright. Are you sure? 
Me: Oh yeah, I just forgot how overwhelming this place is, I used to always come here with my mom. 
Lady: Was she a quilter?
Me: Yeah, she was. She taught me how to sew and helped me make my first quilt, she was an amazing teacher to a lot of people. 
Lady: That's wonderful, I remember teaching my daughter to sew as a girl too. So your mom taught classes?
Me: Definitely. Made some patterns as well. 
Lady: Really? Here in Oregon?
Me: Yeah, her name was Lee Fowler. But she taught in lots of places.
Lady: You're kidding! I took a class with your mom years and years ago! You're Lee's daughter?
Me: Uh, wow. Uh... yeah, I am. This is crazy, you took one of her classes?
Lady: Many moons ago, she was a wonderful teacher.

After about 20 minutes of reminiscing and swapping stories, Jacklyn and I said goodbye. She offered me a hug as I started to tear up and ran off to go hug her own daughter.
While I've never believed in an afterlife or anything highly spiritual, I do believe in people and the impact they leave on this world. Months after my mom's been gone, she still seems to linger everywhere - in quilting stores and coffee shops, with old friends and the smell of her fabric, on long road trips and Sunday afternoons. With almost a year since the day she passed away, it felt beautifully serendipitous to run into Jacklyn and be reminded that I'm not only one she left her mark on. 

So with that - Mom, I really miss you. I wish you'd been there today to remind me to print out my 40% coupon and tell me to buy that ridiculous punctuation fabric I honestly have no use for. 

But for now, I'm actually doing ok. Probably because you taught me that too.