It's only a jacket

Doc and Gerri on the bike

Just a few more days until Christmas and all of a sudden, I've turned into a sentimental sap. Anything and everything causes me to start blubbering. I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm not usually like this. I think I've been watching too many Hallmark Christmas movies.

Each year, as Christmas approaches, I want everything to be just perfect...a cross between a Martha Stewart and Better Homes and Gardens Christmas. I work really hard to make my home inviting and do my best to fill it with memories my children and grandchildren will cherish. It's a lot of work for a few hours of celebration, but who cares.

The day after Thanksgiving we put up our tree and before you know it, decorations fill every nook and cranny. I  dig out all of my Christmas CDs and load the Bose so I have continual holiday joy filling my home. After everything is lit and decorated, I begin baking. Part of my gift giving includes special holiday recipes from years past and it's always a pleasure to remember good times as I'm cooking. Smells trigger memories and hopefully, there aren't burnt ones this year.

Today was a bittersweet day as I ran across a different kind of memory tucked deep in my closet. It was a chilly day and the thin chambray shirt I was wearing wasn't keeping me warm. Heading toward my big walk in closet, I began to rummage through my winter tops in hopes of finding something more substantial. My fingers skimmed over sweatshirts and long sleeve blouses, that's when I saw it, Gerri's jacket...that faded blue denim tucked deep. My hand stopped and paused reverently on the sleeve as I remembered my sweet best friend. I don't know where they came from but suddenly, the dam burst and I was standing in a puddle of tears.

Gerri and Doc at our last lunch together

Gerri had passed away earlier this year. It was so unexpected. When I received the news, I was devastated. My best friend had died. I couldn't process it. We'd just spent the weekend together getting our hair done, going out to eat, joking and laughing and now...she was gone. I didn't realize it until that very moment, as my hand slid down the jacket front...I'd never see her again. I couldn't pick up the phone and call her. I'd have no one to share my secrets with again. We'd never giggle so hard over her bladder control issues again. It wasn't fair.

I took the jacket down from the hanger, held it carefully in my hands thinking it might disintegrate and then all memories of her would be gone. The soft denim jacket was well worn. It was Gerri's favorite. When she'd died, her husband, Doc, asked if there was anything I'd like to have and the only thing I could think of was her jacket. She'd been wearing it the last day we were together. For some reason I just knew, if I held it up to my nose, I'd still be able to smell her...remember her. Doc had lovingly agreed to give me her jacket and had driven almost 50 miles to bring it to me one afternoon after things had calmed down a bit. I'd taken his sweet gift and hung it in my closet, thinking I'd wear it one day as the weather grew cooler, but the jacket had hung there for months and I'd forgotten all about it.

Holding Gerri's jacket was difficult. She had loved this jacket so much and had worn it everywhere she went. As I looked over the front of the jacket, I saw several pins she'd placed on it. There was one for women bikers, one for diabetes awareness and one for breast cancer awareness. That little pink ribbon...she'd put that one there for me. On the back of her jacket was a patch, another ladies bikers symbol. She and Doc were big Harley riders and it was important for her to let others know.

Me in Gerri's jacket

I gently unfastened the buttons and opened the jacket. I slipped first one arm in and then the other. As I managed to get the jacket on, I felt an instant warmth...like a huge, big, Gerri hug. Oh it was so sweet! I could almost hear her whisper in my ear, "It's going to be okay, girl. It's going to be okay." The cozy denim enveloped me and I stood there crying. All the sweet memories of my best friend mingled together into a massive, overwhelming gift that was too hard to bear. Struggling, I took the jacket off and hung it back on the hanger. I couldn't bear to wear it today or perhaps ever. I knew it was only a jacket but it held too many emotions...too many memories...too much love.

As I turned out the light and softly closed the door to my closet, I knew Gerri's jacket was safe in its place amid my winter clothes and the memory of my friend was nestled snug against my heart, just where it always would remain.

The lights on the Christmas tree twinkle brightly  as I stand before it. I'll miss you sweet friend but I'll always treasure your laugh, your smile, and your mischievous grin. Even though you're no longer with me physically, you'll always be in my hearts.

Just the other day, I was at the drugstore picking up a prescription. As I walked through the aisles to get to the pharmacy, I passed a row of feminine hygiene products. Suddenly, I felt a need to stop and as I glanced down there was a package of Tena bladder control pads lying on the floor. I swear I could hear Gerri's snicker starting up and then it turned into full blow gut wrenching laughter...but it wasn't hers I was hearing, it was MINE!

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