It was right before Valentine's Day in 1974. I was in my third year of college, living at home while I commuted to the local university. It was a year of social success for me. There had been a few formals already and more coming up. I was nominated for Queen of Hearts, the winner was to be announced the next night...Valentine's Day. Mom had decided I needed something elegant to keep me warm so had purchased some black velveteen and set out to make me a floor length cape.

The cape was beautiful. It was lined in white quilted satin. It was hooded and had big gold buttons on the front. There were deep satin lined pockets inside the cape. I felt like a princess when I tried it on.

Mom stayed up the night before the formal. She sewed late into the night determined to have the cape completed. The next night as I came down the stairs my mother and father were waiting in the living room. I was wearing a long burgundy velvet dress with a touch of lace at the neck and an open back.

My dad had tears in his eyes when he looked at me, my mother a soft look upon her face. My date was standing by the door; he let out a low wolf whistle. I laughed and blushed a bit. My dad took the cape from mom and placed it over my shoulders. I quickly buttoned it, pulled the hood up over my hair and did a quick twirl in front of my parents. I remember hugging my mother, whispering a quick thank you in her ear before we left. I felt like Cinderella at the ball.

I had a wonderful time dancing late into the night with my prince. No, I wasn't crowned the Queen of Hearts that Valentine's Day, but I did win my prince's heart. It was in the wee small hours of the morning when I arrived home and I fell into a deep and blissful sleep.

I slept late the next morning and stumbled down the stairs sleepy eyed to share stories of the previous night with my mother. Something was strange though. I saw her suitcase in the dining room as I entered into the kitchen. Around the table were my parents and Elsie, my mother's best friend. Elsie's eyes were red and my mother had that false brave look that we mothers do so well. I looked at their faces and waited. I didn't have to wait long.

My mother had undergone a breast biopsy a few weeks before. In the last four years there had been several of them. I hadn't thought twice about this one; Mom obviously had. This biopsy felt different to her and she wasn't convinced when she got her usual benign diagnosis. Perhaps she was just feeling paranoid or perhaps she was truly in tune with the inner workings of her body.

Nevertheless, she was so sure that the diagnosis was wrong and so adament with the doctor, that he decided to send the biopsied tissue to the University of Virginia Medical Centert for a second opinion. The test came back positive for a newly discovered strain of breast cancer. The surgeon wanted her admitted immediately and prepped for surgery.

My mother refused, however. She had things to do, things to finish, before she would consider it. For you see, she had a daughter with a very special night coming up. There was magic to weave and a cape to finish. That night that mom stayed up late working was a labor of love for her. She kept her news buried deep inside. Nothing should spoil her daughter's night to be a princess. So instead of checking into the hospital she finished this cape and kissed me softly goodnight. And instead of sharing her sorrow and fear, she sent me off to enjoy my night of magic.

Mom's surgery was successful. She has been a breast cancer survivor for almost 25 years now. I learned love and how to survive from her. Two lessons which have seen me well through this journey of life. I drew on both these lessons when I received my own diagnosis of breast cancer twenty years later.

I still have the cape, just as lovely as the day I first wore it. It became an expression of my mother's love and bravery; I will always cherish it. I haven't worn it in a while, though. It's hanging in the closet waiting for that night when my own daughter will need something warm and elegant to wear on a night meant for a princess. And so...a mother's legacy lives on.

(This story is written from long ago memories and as such may contain a few minor inaccuracies. A mother's love, however, is genuine; a memory to keep a lifetime.)

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