Mary darted through the fabric room at the quilt shop with purpose gathering a vibrant stack of both vivid and muted cotton. Too many to carry, she lay her collection on the cutting table as she parsed through shelves, plucking a bolt from here and there to add to the pile until satisfied she had found precisely what she needed.
“These are gorgeous,” Janie commented from the other side of the table and set aside a stack of fat quartered civil war reproductions, strips of muted golds and reds in petite, precise prints. She’d get back to folding them into perfect triangles later. “What may I cut for you?”
Mary adjusted the brim of her brown felted hat too large for her head and yet essential, then pulled out a tiny spiral notebook from her purse to make certain she hadn’t forgotten anyone. She ran her finger across the list of names noting the yardage required to complete each individual project, then arranged the bolts of fabric into piles reflecting each commission, every one a labor of love. Unhurried, Janie watched Mary sort, noticing she favored her right shoulder.
“I think I’m ready,” Mary confirmed. “I’d like two yards of the batik and one and a half of everything else.” Yes. These were perfect, Mary thought, straightening another bolt.
“So, what will you be making with all of these lovely fabrics?” Janie wondered and picked up a pink floral, positioning it vertically on the cutting mat. Mary hesitated. Then sharing her purpose, said,
“I lost my brother a few months ago. I’m making quilts for some of the people who helped me when he was sick and after he died. I’m making lap quilts for them. This one is for Bobby’s landlord and this one for the hospice nurse, she is about to have her first baby. That blue plaid is for Bobby’s doctor, he wears blue all the time so I think it would be perfect for him. Her voice faltered a little but she continued, “I just had to do something for them, they took such good care of Bobby.”
Janie placed the rotary cutter down and looking up at Mary she asked,
“Can you tell me more?” Janie leaned in and Mary shared more of her story. She felt as though a weight had been lifted. Someone wanted to listen. Someone was not afraid to talk about death.
“This is Bobby’s hat,” Mary continued, giving a tug to the felted brim, “this silly old thing is too big for me, but I just love having him close by.” She laughed a little, uncertain how long it had been since she felt like laughing, and found the bluejay feather tucked into the band on the right side and rubbed it between her fingertips.
“It’s a beautiful hat. I’d wear it every day,” said Janie. “Can you tell me about each quilt, what do have planned? I’d love to hear it.” Mary sorted the bolts into piles representing each person, caressing the fabric as she described how she would stitch a floral Flying Geese, a simple Nine Patch from the ginghams and polka dots, and a Bear’s Paw for the doctor made of comforting navy and tans. Mary told Janie about all the people who helped her through a vulnerable, frightening time, people acting like lighthouses leading her to safety. Janie cut and Mary talked, sorting the cut fabric like chapters of a love story.
As she spoke about what each person did to help her it felt to Mary she could process more of the event, cultivating a quiet peace in this space of remembrance. Being fully heard by someone who is not afraid to listen helps build resilience. After what seemed like a long time the fabric was cut and folded, then placed into one neat pile to be paid for, taken home, washed, and sewn. Janie carried the substantial stack over to the cashier, Mary following, grateful as she had fallen recently and weakened her right shoulder making the weight of the yardage hard to bear, an invisible wound easily missed by those not paying close attention.
There is a helplessness to grief, it's an emotional freefall with no clear way to manage the pain or right yourself. This is why the relief and power that accompanies still being able to do something for another person at a time when you are brought to your knees by death and loss feels like dropping anchor, securing additional resistance to insecurity. It's why mourners lead grief groups and grievers start foundations. It has to do with control and not feeling powerless because if you’re still able to help someone else you are not fully lost.
Mary sought comfort in making gifts for people who nurtured her through an extraordinarily painful time, cutting a wide swath through the grip of grief and pushing back the understandable self-obsession that is woven into profound loss, proving to herself although she is reduced, she is still capable. She can still see herself. She is still Mary.
Giving while grieving is resilience and helping to facilitate this is love.
Copyright (2021) Suzanne Bayer. All Rights Reserved