There’s nothing remarkable at first sight of the current purse I carry. It’s a shoulder bag, not small but not huge either. It has pockets on both sides of a roomy interior that includes an inner zippered pouch. It has more than enough room for the things I feel I must carry, my billfold (which matches the purse), keys, ink pens, a small notebook, my veil for church, photographs and more. I carry the purse almost everywhere I go and because it’s a bright fire engine red, I often get compliments or comments about the bag. It seems that this vivid shade is not one common to purses.
I smile and accept the compliments but I didn’t choose the purse although it’s very special to me. My mother shopped for and bought the purse for herself, intending to use it. I like to think about her perusing the merchandise at a department store, gazing over the many different styles, sizes and colors of purses that were available. Red was her favorite color so it’s no surprise she chose this one.
What I don’t always say, depending on how well or if I know the person who comments is that this is my mother’s last purse although she never had an opportunity to carry it.
After she passed away last May – the anniversary of that sad event falls on Memorial Day this year – she no longer had a need for a purse.
Maybe the family could have tucked it with her in her casket. We’ve been known to add photographs or books or items special to the person we just lost.
Instead, as we began the long and terrible process of sorting through her things, my brother offered it to me. In recent years, as her general health declined, he lived with my mother.
“It’s new,” he told me as he held it up.
The purse still had the tags attached and was still filled with the crumpled paper packing.
I accepted with pleasure and more than a few tears.
A year later, it’s still the purse I carry along with the matching billfold that came with the bag.
I don’t know that I will always carry this same purse but I will always treasure it.
I have many other purses, one I bought not long before receiving this one that I retired without hesitation, a large bag my late husband bought for me one year on vacation, a handmade leather purse that could almost double as a suitcase, and a delightful “I Love Lucy” themed purse that my children bought me because I’m a huge fan of Lucille Ball.
For the foreseeable future, though, the red purse is the one I’ll carry.
It’s almost – not quite, not really – like having my mom along. She loved to shop and so with her last purse on my shoulder, it doesn’t seem like I’m alone. As I take her final bag with me as I shop, seeking that perfect new blouse or a new pair of shoes, I can almost hear her voice. I easily can imagine her delight in shopping and guess what her reaction might have been to a color or style.
Although my mother spent most of last May in the hospital, first with a diagnosis of pneumonia and meningitis, it was the final diagnosis that robbed our family of both hope and our mom. Doctors discovered she had advanced cancer and that it was far too widespread and too late to treat. Already weakened and in poor health, they gave her days to live – which is what she did.
So for those who wonder and tell me that they love my purse, there’s a story and this is it.
