This is the first Friday Fiction. I hope you enjoy it.
Just a Suggestion.
When the parcel arrived from her Mother's executor, Morgan didn't know if she should open it right away or wait until her husband came home and was able to lend a comforting arm if it was needed. She put the kettle on for tea and made an unnecessary fuss getting out her cup, rinsing the pot and adding the boiling water while she made up her mind.
It had been a difficult few months. First, there was the unexpected diagnosis followed just five very short weeks later by her mother's death. Five weeks in which to cram what should have been more than 20 years of love, laughter, words, experiences and memories. Her mother had chosen to forgo any treatment knowing it might, at best, delay the inevitable a few days but would rob everyone of precious moments of being together. They were all by her bedside; her father and her sister on one side and she and her son on the other, when her mother smiled at them and quit breathing. It was so quiet that, at first, no-one realized she had gone. Then the medical staff took over, followed by all the legal requirements of a death.
The funeral was, as they often are, both a comfort and a nightmare. The crowd of family and friends that filled the little church for the memorial service reinforced the knowledge that her mother was a loved and respected woman. That it took place for such a reason was going to take a long time to accept.
Morgan stared at the parcel on the table and, then reached for the scissors she had brought with the teapot. She was too curious to wait any longer. What possibly could the lawyer have sent that was big enough to need a box. Most of the communication the family had received fit in an envelope. She carefully cut the tape and removed the paper. Inside was a plastic bag containing, she thought a dress or something made of fabric. There was two envelopes and she read the one with the lawyer's name on first. It simply stated that he had been instructed to send the parcel and letter after her mother's funeral. The second letter was in her mother's familiar hand.
My dear Morgan, it read, this is going to be a surprise, I know, but I wanted to leave you with something that would occupy you during this period of adjustment. I put these blocks together from fabric that I had saved from the dresses I made you. Each one has reminded me of how beautiful you looked in them. You were a lovely child and have grown into an even lovelier woman. I would like you to put the blocks together and have them made into a quilt. I hope, as you work on it, you will remember, as I did, when you wore the clothing, the fun we all had working together and how much I love you, precious daughter. I have sent another bag to your sister. Perhaps you can work together. Just a suggestion.
It was signed, simply, Mom.
Morgan laughed. 'Just a suggestion.' Her mother never interfered, she 'suggested'. She never told anyone what to do just offered a 'suggestion'. When Morgan and her sister had chose to live their lives separate from each other, they knew it had made their mother unhappy but pride and stubbornness kept them from changing. The closeness they had known as children wasn't strong enough to withstand teenage rivalry, boyfriends and bad friends. It all seemed so silly now. Perhaps, Morgan thought, as with so many times in the past, it was time to follow another of her mother's 'suggestions'.
She picked up the phone and punched in her sister's number.