Remembering

My messenger bag recently developed a small hole so I did my best to mend it by hand with a needle and some red thread that matched the trim nicely. It was a rather amateurish job, and I'm quite certain my neighborhood tailor could have done it perfectly for a few lira, but there was a certain amount of satisfaction in sewing it myself, crooked stitches and all.

Actually that small, traveling sewing kit is very precious to me. It was the last present my mom ever gave me.

I remember that it was a last minute gift back in April that came as I was hurriedly chosing which of my belongings to take with me to Istanbul. I was resolved to only pack two duffels and yet I wanted to bring most of my library. At some point in the midst of trying to determine which books were the top priority Mom handed me the sewing kit and told me I might need it.

My first response was that there wasn't room and I was quite certain people sew in Turkey; I could just get one there. But as soon as I said that I realized that this gift was very important to her (as small, thoughtful gifts usually were), and quickly found space for it, assuring Mom it would be useful.

I'm positive I said thank you, with all the sincerity I could muster, but I'm not quite sure I meant it.

I do now Mom.