A couple months ago while staying at my mom's house I spied her old sewing machine sitting on a shelf in the basement, un-used and forgotten. It took a while to find a way to get it down here, and find a place in my house to put it (gotta love apartment living!). But yesterday I finally pulled it out of its old box and sat down to start a little sewing project for Leah. I sat there for a minute, suddenly stunned.
I could feel my mom. I could feel all the hours and hours and days and years she had sat at this very machine. I could feel her warm worn hands and see her brow furrowed in concentration to make it just right. I could see my Christmas nightgown and bathrobe from when I was 4, all my girl scout badges, the piles and piles of my hemmed pants, even my senior prom dress. So many late nights. So much time. And I suddenly felt overwhelmed with emotion.
Does she even know how much all of that meant to me? How much more it means to me now as I sit, a mother myself, about to spend hours on a project that my daughter may only wear briefly. And suddenly I realized how stitched I am, heart to heart, with my mother. My angel, ever-sacrificing, ever-giving, and never selfish mother.
She is in every stitch of me.
And so I sat there, sewing an apron for my little Leah, and hoped, in some similar way, I was stitching us together as well. Adding my love for her to the tapestry of love created by my mom, and her mom, and her mom...
