My sewing basket is open and as I draw out the colored threads, my heart and mind shifts to my mother. Mom is a talented seamstress. She made my doll clothes, my outfits for school and my maternity wear. She knitted her last pair of mitts with wool I brought her from Peru and she gave each child a colorful crocheted blanket. She created perfect items for her home.
She loves high end fabric and the color navy blue and though the sewing machine often hummed away in the tiny and cramped upstairs bedroom – it is her hand sewing that fills my memories now. I can see her ever so accurate and gentle pulling the thread through a beautiful fabric as I sit marveling at how gracefully she wove torn edges together or created a perfect cuff.
I did not inherit her domestic skills and was always outside on the farm but I sat still long enough to learn how to do repairs and the importance of reinforcing a button. And each time I pull out the slim thread and turn to my task I feel light and in a sacred place. For she is there.
These are our days of transformation. Mom is on her final journey. She is gracious in her last days and her soft hands are a joy to gently touch. And though I enter this day becoming a senior myself, the child in me cannot imagine being an orphan. Cannot imagine life without this gracious light.
My heart is filled with the gratitude of her being ever present – for stitching together torn hearts and ragged hems and for always creating a space of warmth and welcome. We knew we belonged.
As I close the basket and look ahead to this day, I wish you joy in finding a sacred space that draws you to someone precious. Someone who makes it all worthwhile.
