My mother could mend things. Some of my earliest memories of my mother were her sitting it her antique sewing machine, hearing the click of the needle - in awe of her ability to fix and create.
The sewing machine itself was a fantastic piece of furniture. It was a simple table that had a secret compartment that the sewing machine would pop out of. There were compartments for fabric, buttons, needles. This may be typical of a sewing machine, but it was magic to me.
She learned to sew when she came to America and her sisters and her had to make and mend their clothes. She took great pride in this and held on to that spirit throughout our life.
When my favorite Beanie Baby, Wrinkles nose popped off, she replaced it with a button - he became all the more special. Charlie just recently told me she did the same thing for his stuffy this Easter after a dog gnawed its nose clean off.
She didn’t give up on things, she knew she could fix.
She would use this skill to access a deep creativity. Whatever we wanted to be for Halloween or a school play - she would stay up deep into the night, needle clicking away. Creating costumes from scraps of fabric and equal parts seriousness and a wild imagination. She transformed us into anything - Rainbow Bright, American Girl Dolls, goths, Jane Goodall, A tube of toothpaste (ask Dad), Optimus Prime, a turkey.
She can not mend what has happened here. A cruel irony of this situation is my mother with her positivity, creativity and seriousness could care for all of us, she would be such a force in getting us all through this tragedy. I am trying to learn from her and trying to learn to mend.
Comments