Saturday, July 09, 2011
One block leads to another...
This morning's get together was a little different, though. I suppose some background is necessary for all the pieces to make sense. After all, it is our history that makes us the person we are today. I know that I am not the same woman I was five years ago, and I am proud of that. It was five years ago that I lost my mother to cancer. Ten days later, I gave birth to my son, Rudy. Two years later, I lost my step-father (the only father I really had) in a motorcycle accident. Fast forward to a year ago, when my daughter Carly was born. My step-sister and I have been managing our parents' estate. The last thing on the list was to give mom and Rich a final resting place.
My step-sister and I wandered through the Valdez Cemetery a few weeks ago, looking for a perfect, peaceful place. We found it, and scheduled the burial for Friday. Since then, we have all noticed signs. I found the columbine at the foot of my stairs. A beautiful tropical plant that my step-sister rescued from the estate bloomed for the first time in five years. My husband had a run-in with a crow that involved the black bird stubbornly refusing to let go of his leather-man (if you knew my mom, you'd understand). And yesterday, my phone rang.
On the other end was the woman who graciously quilted all of my mother's quilt tops and donated them to long-term care. An amazing act in and of itself. While going through her sewing room, she realized that she had missed one. It was brown and blue with turtles, and looked perfect for a little boy. She wanted to know if I would like it back. My son would finally have his own quilt from Grandma Bonnie.
When Sheila handed me the quilt this morning, I recognized it immediately. Funny, how powerful an impact our sewing has on others' lives. My mother's quilts now bring comfort to my brother and his family, the patients in the Valdez long-term care facility, the friends that she spent hours sewing with, my son, who never got to meet her, will know her through her sewing. And I, after five years of missing my parents, am finding peace each time I turn on my machine.