The Denim Apron

In the midst of all the stressors, there was only one thing that brought me to the verge of tears. Hanging in the back of a crowded storage area I came upon one of my mother's old dark blue denim work aprons. It was lightly soiled with dried clay and a few other less identifiable substances. It reminded me vividly of my mother's life as a working artist. I sniffed, hoping to catch a lingering whiff of her scent, but there was only dust.

Like most everything else, the apron went into the dumpster ~ officially trash. And a little piece of my heart was broken.