A collection of fragments until I can find how to process them further.
five years and ten million stitches of love
I thought I saw the hummingbird do a flyby past me on the deck, not long before I got the call to say goodbye. I felt a surge, a thrill, a sense of hope.
Today I saw the hummingbird for certain. Bright green. One of mom’s favorite colors. And not one, but two. The other is a greyish brown, so maybe they are a pair.
Reading back on the dreams, I am caught up and overcome with further tears as I realize the one was prophetic, because it was exactly the scene when we were gathered with her to say goodbye. I read it back and relive those moments, still so fresh in my mind. In the physical present real world moment of saying goodbye, I felt at a loss, as though I couldn’t find the words to speak and I’d botched my only chance; in the spirit she knew that I was there with her and she knew exactly how I felt and what I wanted her to know, limitless, undying love which shines around us like a million suns.
Some of the sorrow seems to revolve around wist. There is no question about her now. She’s blazing brightly, swimming in heaven’s embrace now. The wist is for the earthly time, the moments not spent loving and joying, the time lost from all the things that distract us from love and joy.
So of course it comes to mind that if in this present moment I am rewinding and reviewing the aching years of her life and how she could have been more joyful, I can’t help but notice that I myself am often distracted from joy, and my own life is flying on by.
Forgetting to live my life joyfully because I’m busy taking care of or being concerned about something or someone else. That’s not what I want.
Pot, kettle, black. So I need to do a better job of living joyfully, of being present, of being aware of the journey.
I’ve been wrapped up in my quilt, soaking up the love and memories. Every quilt has a story to tell. Five years and ten million stitches, all at my mother’s hand, thinking of me, sewing her love to me with each and every stitch. The colors, the fabric textures — she put careful thought into all of it. This masterpiece has been stored away for years, because I never wanted it to get soiled or stained. She would consider that ridiculous of me. It’s a practical item, meant to be used.
I’m using it now. I wrap myself close and look at all the details and think about what life moments took place when those stitches were made, and realize how much love and life has been shared all along, in languages that I didn’t recognize.
