The tenth anniversary of my mother's death passed recently. But for the many who remember her vivacious spirit, her ready laugh, and her generous nature, she lives on.
The members of her quilting group, in their tribute to her, called her a "woman of unbelievable talent and beauty".
When she learned that she had cancer, Phyllis began to write her memoirs. She had always loved to write and had many articles published, mostly about her experiences on her sailboat with my stepfather. Her memoirs were to be a gift to her children and grand-children, who had always expressed an interest in her past and the way things were before they were born. As she put it,
"..since some of the things I mention about the past seem to surprise you, I thought I would put my history (which is also your history) on paper" and "..the world is so different from the world I knew as a young person. I often think about how it was then and how it is now. For some reason, I want to tell you about how it was."
She wrote about her childhood, her grandparents, her parents, our father and her children. She lived through World War II and the Great Depression. She attended school, married, moved to the suburbs, earned a degree and raised four children. Her story ended with the end of what she called "The Golden Years", the period when her children were young, and before she suffered marital and resulting financial problems. She may have wanted to spare us any reminders of a difficult time in our lives. She may have intended to write more before chemotherapy sapped her energy (her life improved dramatically after meeting our stepfather and she enjoyed many years of adventures and contentment with him). Whatever her reasons, she ended in a good place, and died some months later.
My sister took the manuscript, and searched boxes and albums for photographs with which to illustrate it. With the help of a friend, my sister scanned the photos and compiled a wonderfully written story with photos of ancestors, family, friends, and children. At my mother's memorial service, guests were asked to write something about my mother and their tributes were included in the back of the book. Another friend helped my sister to bind the books with handmade papers, printed on fine parchment. She put together twelve books, one for each sibling, the remaining eight for close friends and other family members.

After several years of living on their sailboat and in San Juan, Puerto Rico, my mother and stepfather settled in Miami where she developed an interest in quilting. She took some lessons, bought a sewing machine and was soon turning out beautiful wall hangings and bed quilts for family and friends. She joined a local quilting group, The Ocean Waves. She served on committees for their annual Quilt Fest, and was later a president of the guild. One year, my sister had six family photos printed onto fabric and gave them to my mother as a gift. Among them was a photo of my sister as a baby in our mother's arms, and another of my sister and older brother. The third and fourth were of the younger of my two brothers at about age four, and myself at the same age. Another was a family classic of my mother with her parents and her sister, and last, a much more recent one of Mom with our stepfather. My mother was thrilled to receive such a gift and claimed she would think long and hard before putting a needle and thread to them. Some time before she died she made her decision. All the photos were to be stitched into one large wall hanging. She carefully chose a different fabric for each block that would compliment the photo it surrounded. For a background she selected a calico in red, white and black with a piano keyboard motif. A wide border around the entire quilt was also constructed of red, black and white in a braid-like design. She pieced the entire front and finished about three quarters of the border before she died. Once again, loved ones stepped in; her quilting friends finished the border and hand quilted it to the backing. The last time I saw my mother, she called it her "magnum opus" a quote she remembered from "Charlotte's Web". This last great work is now hanging in my sister's house. My mother's legacies are proof that those left behind will take care of unfinished business.