Her Tapestry

As I sat to compose my mother’s obituary, erroneously thinking this would be a simple task, to somehow summarize my mother’s life in 150 words or less, I was struck by the enormity of the task at hand. All I could see was this technicolor tapestry unfolding before my eyes. A tapestry woven over 93 years by a soul with boundless energy.

This intricate piece of textile art seems to be composed of vibrant colors and patterns, woven from brilliant magentas and cobalt blues. Patterns derived from fiery red times and glimmering splashes of golden hope. And just as I sit back and want to see only the happy, humorous patterns that define this story of a life fully lived, I realize there are flaws in this tapestry, areas less tightly woven with faded thread, derived from sadness and loss and hardship. Yet, I realize that it’s not only the fortitude that lends strength to this creation but also the weaknesses and flaws that makes this tapestry authentic and tactile and recognizable to me as my mother’s weave.

I cower at the thought that this is a finished piece of art. I refuse to close down the loom. To place finality on this masterpiece. So I choose to envision that the very threads that made her tapestry so vibrant and fun and full of spunk, are now being used by those touched along her path . Threads of generosity and support and invention. Those very threads are already in use by us all as we unknowingly weave our own tapestries.

I realize I have been handed a pink thread from her gentle “ purr” as I brushed her silver hair, a cobalt blue one that now drives my sense of wonder, a cardinal red strand matching the lipstick she needed to apply before leaving her home. The popping red that defined that beautiful inviting smile forever etched within my heart, rekindled by the wise little red bird outside my window. Oh, and don’t forget the canary yellow thread that for most would signal caution, one she used rarely but judiciously or the emerald green thread that bathed her masterpiece with memories of her beloved fairways and the elation felt as she sunk her hole in one!

So we all have our strands to carry on the work, to keep the loom in motion.Threads of laughter and joy, of heartache and support, of grief followed by healing and slow but sure celebration…all woven together lending amazing tensile strength and purpose to our own unique creations moving forward.

And “ sew” it goes.