This was a pretty rough mother’s day for me, but It had a beautiful beginning. I slept in until after 9, and then when I did get up I was quickly sent back to bed by my very excited 7 year old. I was treated to breakfast in bed of sunnyside up eggs (my favorite, but since everyone else likes scrambled we usually have those) and toast. My daughter gave me a flowerpot she painted at school with a little baby sunflower in it and a calendar for this month decorated with a picture she drew of us having a picnic at the park.
Shortly after breakfast, though, I got a call from my mother letting me know that my grandma had passed away that morning. At 91, I know that she’d lived a long and full life. I know that now she can rest peacefully, free from the difficulties inherent in aging. I know that she left surrounded by love and family. I know all this, but it doesn’t make it any easier to say goodbye to someone you love so much.
I spent the rest of the day in a bit of a fog, and I thought a lot of her. I remembered being very little and riding out the itchy torture of chickenpox comforted by her. I remembered summers and games of tag with my brothers and cousins in her backyard. I so fondly remember picking strawberries fresh from her garden so we could have homemade strawberry shortcake on so many hot summer afternoons.
And she taught me so many things. I learned to crochet from her, but could never match the beautiful angels and snowflakes she made for Christmas time. I still have a dress she made me for my barbie covered in blue and white crocheted lace. It’s worn now by my daughter’s dolls. Before I was able to hold a needle she was teaching me the basics of garment construction. She gave me a box of kleenex and a roll of scotch tape that I used to make tiny couture costumes for my “babies”.
As I got older she continued to give me so much support and love. Every time I went to visit her she would say, “I pulled out some stuff for you” and she’d present me with boxes and bags of old sewing supplies or surprises from my childhood. I have cherished those little gifts, and keep them near me when I sew. Two of my favorites are a pair of pinking shears that had belonged to her mother, with the box and instructions (most of the things I got from her included the box and instructions, no matter how old) and the little sewing machine in the photo above. It’s a tiny thing, about 6 inches tall, but my grandma told me all about how she used it when she was young. She gave it to me the last time I saw her, and it has sat at my sewing desk since I brought it home. I look at it often and think of her.
She may have left this world, but I know she will live on in my heart and hands and with every stitch I sew.