I started this blog at the urging of my aunt, many years ago. She had a space of internet that she called her own and thought it would be a good way for me to connect and share even more images {mind you, this was in the baby days of Facebook, long before Instagram}. She talked me through getting my first blog set up and I was off and running. We were often the only commenters on each others’ posts, but that was okay. The writing and the content were more for accidental viewer or more directly for the person who had been pointedly told about it; a seemingly magical, imaginary pass into our whimsy. It was fun, light and easy. Something to do to pass the time. Something to do solely for fun. Expression. Another area for our many shared outlets of creating for the lone purpose of creating.
And then she got cancer.
And all the things that we did for amusement…all the rainy days spent lovingly with our respective sewing machines, the endless cups of coffee while crafting, the lengthy conversations over a bottle of wine, the back-and-forths about small business and goals, the texts out of the blue, city dates, random mailings, long walks, sleepovers, late nights {oh, those marvelous, simply unpretentious, cup-filling, so much fun, beautiful late nights}, letters…all of it grayed out. Just a little. It pushed to background as cancer took center stage.
As it should. Completely unfair and uncompromising, cancer is a selfish, one man band. Demanding the spotlight, even when it so poorly deserves it.
We still chatted and visited. Dreamed and laughed. Cried and yelled at the river. Days passed, some much easier for her than others. Slowly, she retreated into her pain. How unknowing we all were, in retrospect. Those days were rough…the kind of rough that forces a person to wrap wholy in the ish, moaning the hurt away, anticipating a reprieve yet expecting none. Dark days. Long days.
And then there was light. Remission was blessed and bright and amazing…however quick it may have been before the band came back to town and she was once again carried away into the dark days.
Still…she carried on. She created. She sewed quilts and hand-stitched ornaments. Coffee cozies and purses and pouches. Treasures for so many to carry our treasures in. Stunningly detailed, creative, unique journals. Amazing vessels which to pour our hearts and post our personal life takeaways.
We didn’t realize then how beautiful that would be. How much these handmade items would eventually mean to each and every one of us.
This summer seemed to be a bit of a cruel joke. June started promising with a family camping trip to our house and amazing moments of quiet and laughter and fun together. Memories. Oh, thank all the stars for memories. July brought so many hospital visits. Rides home. And then more hospital visits. August rushed in to save the day with assurances of help, a drug trial on the horizon and more smiling days than pain-filled, sleeping days. Another family camping trip to our house.
A glorious Thursday night under the twinkle lights on our patio. Beneath a blanket of stars we talked about nothing. Everything. A sip of a gin and tonic. Laughter. Alertness. So much love.
Our last late night together.
One more lengthy hospital visit. A hellish ride home through torrential rains, tornado warnings and dark ominous skies…only to emerge from storm to the other side. Crisp blue skies, cotton clouds, freshly washed landscapes, bright colors surrounding a shimmering road. Foreshadowing at its finest, that last ride home.
She made it to September, but only just. An early morning phone call on September 1 informed me of what I already seemed to know. A piece of me lost. All of her gone. A heart-wrenching, sucker-punch type pain of which I’ve never known.
And yet…she’s still here.
Ha-in our house, she’s seemingly everywhere. In the coffee cozies, the quilts, her fuzzy pink blanket, the coffee cups, my makeup bag, makeup removers, homemade soaps, facial wash, jams and jellies, Weck jars…all bearing her handwriting, her fabrics, her likeness. If I ever get snow during this faux winter, I know I’ll see her in my cross-country ski journey and when summer comes, she’ll be ever-present with the zinnias, sitting on the bridge, relaxing in the garden. Always smiling. I hope I forever hear her laughter, feel her energy. Her voice in my head, calming.
I still reach for my phone to shoot her a text or give her a call. And it still takes a moment or two to remember that I can’t. It’s a strange place to be, alone without your creative-person. A counterpart. One who saw you through, well, all the hard times even when she was suffering so hard herself. A truly selfless, beautiful individual. So many days, just by being herself and doing her thing…she was my gold star.
It may take me a bit to get back to blogging, but I believe I’ll get there. Not because I have to, but because I want to. Eventually, I’ll need to. First as my place to share work and brag about how superior and amazing all my clients are {insert wink face emoji} and then to continue to capture my life and my adventures. My marks. My joys.
Just as she taught me to do all those years ago. Sitting on her couch, late night scheming and dreaming. Long before we knew of the horrors of cancer, when life was blissful and bright. I know she’ll appear on this blog time and again as a way to keep her spirit strong and my memories alive. An integral part of my business, my life. As it were, my life would not be the same without her influence, her magical touch.
I’m thankful for all that she taught me, mostly unaware. How to open my mind, change my perspective. To create something out of nothing. To take enjoyment from moments that bring forth true happiness and joy. She furthered my love for gardening and strengthened my want for whimsy. True serendipity, my forming such an important relationship with her in my later years. My gosh, how I am going to miss her.
Happy birthday, Auntie. You are so forever loved.
