Every Stitch a Blessing, Every Stitch a Prayer

This is not the post I'd hoped to begin the new year with. My dad’s health has been declining since Christmas, and sadly, he passed away last week. He suffered from Lewy Body Dementia, a debilitating neurological disease with symptoms similar to both Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s.

Dad died peacefully in his sleep while in the care of hospice. He was a devoted husband, great dad and grandfather, and all-around good guy who will be remembered for his cheerful, fun-loving spirit.

People manage grief in different ways. For me, it's natural to turn to needle and thread for solace. My needle got quite a workout in the mid-1990s when we lost several family members and friends within a few short years: a beloved aunt and uncle, my dear brother and his partner, a favorite grade school teacher, and the owner of the quilt shop where I worked. 

It was tempting to wallow in self-pity during those years, but I had to keep things together for my health and family’s sake. In true “fake it till you make it” fashion, quilting helped me cope with grief and loss.

I began by pulling fabrics from my scrap basket. I'd give them a casual trim with scissors and sort them into piles of light and dark strips. When there were enough pieces to run through the machine, I'd stitch them into "liberated" log cabin blocks. The beauty of working intuitively like this is how relaxing it is.

What started as mindless sewing, soon became a form of prayerful meditation. Snip, sort, sew. Snip, sort, sew. Gradually, the quiet focus and rhythmic hum of my machine began to mend my broken heart. 

I don't know how I'll feel about this quilt in the future. I like to think there's more healing in it than grief. Maybe I won't try to finish it -- just keep it for the next time I need some therapeutic sewing.