In the far recesses of my closet, hangs a bath robe. It is yellowed with age and threadbare in some places. The robe is made of cotton chenille popular in the 1950s and 1960s. Once upon a time it was light blue and hung on the door of my great-grandmother’s bedroom.


Lenora Leader was my mother’s grandmother and we called her Momo. She was only about 4 feet 9 inches tall and weighed about 90 pounds soaking wet as my grandmother (her daughter) would say. She lived alone in the house where she and my great-grandfather raised seven children, buried two young sons, and later raised my mother’s three cousins. It was off a gravel road which was later paved. I can remember going there in the summers. We would pop hot tar bubbles in the road with our bare feet until they were black and sticky. Then we would climb the pear tree out front, confident we would not slip and fall with our feet covered in tar.

I remember my Momo Leader would get up early in the morning, keeping to her farmer’s hours even though there was no longer a farm and Popo Leader had passed away when I was three. She would get up, put on her bathrobe and start breakfast. Once it was ready, she would call us all in to eat. We would be scattered around the table, us in our pajamas and Momo in her bathrobe. After breakfast we would be shooed outside to play while she cleaned up the kitchen and then changed her clothes. The bathrobe would be hung back onto the hook for the day until the next time she would wear it.

We got the call she had passed away when I was 15 years old. We drove down to the house and started getting it cleaned up. Being old school, my Momo wanted her wake at her house and then wanted her buried at the local cemetery next to her husband and sons. My mother was tasked with going through her closet to choose an outfit for Momo to be buried in. While following her around the bedroom, I spied the bathrobe hanging on the door. I waited until no one would see, took the robe off the door and hid it in our car. Once we got home, I brought it to my room and hung it in my closet--a reminder of her warmth, patience, and love. For many years it held her scent, that lilac bath powder she always put on. Today it no longer holds her scent, but one look at it brings back the memories of those summers spent at her house.