The Sorrowful Stitch

     A few weeks ago I asked fellow members of a private Facebook group about how they used, or knew of people who used, stitching as a way to heal. I read that soldiers from World War I were taught embroidery to help with their physical as well as mental recuperation. I was intrigued, and wanted to learn more.  The number of replies to my post was astounding. One story after another was added to the post's feed: stories of survival, sorrow, depression, carrying on family traditions ... all stories of how stitching is a positive and oftentimes a healing endeavor. 

I was planning on visiting my grandma this past weekend to talk, in part, about her stitching. But COVID hit her retirement home and the trip was delayed. Unfortunately, she contracted COVID, which led down a path that was simply too much for her tiny body to fight. I ended up going to see her as planned, not to talk about her latest project, but to show her love. My lovely grandma who stitched, passed away. 

I truly believe her love of creating contributed to her longevity. She would share how a new project was giving her fits: it gave her a challenge. It also was her way to show love. Recently she was making Santas to hang on doors, as well as Christmas ornaments, and tissue box covers. The residents and the caretakers in her retirement home loved to receive her handmade gifts. 

I have a collection of her handmade ornaments which I know will bring me tears of sadness and joy when I hang them on the tree this year. 

I can't believe I will not talk with her again about her stitching. It was something we shared, I just wish I had not come to it so late in life.

The last few days, as I sat in the comfy white chair stitching, I thought of her, and grandpa and their time here.  I find that while I am terribly sad, I am also filled with a bit of joy knowing that one day, God willing, I will be like her, 98 and fighting another stitching project that keeps me feisty, focused, and engaged.