Life resembles a stained glass window. The majority of the events in life form the
design to fill with bright vivid colors.
Sunlight pours through the panes of the happy memories of the past on
display for all to see the joy of living.
The black edging of the metal work crawls through the design giving the
piece definition of the harshness of each circumstance. Harsh words spoken or negative emotions, the
taint of the human condition that creates shadow on the world. Occasionally, a storm hits the window exploding
chards of glass inward.
For the past few months, I have been working on a
stained glass window quilt. My mom
pieced the project together. She started
hand quilting one block but never finished the project. I puzzled over the quilting she did trying to
find a way to continue using the sewing machine. The blanket is lap sized. Not horribly bulky to work on the machine if
I was to do a straight stitch the length of the quilt but I would have needed
to twist and turn the blanket in all direction every three to four inches. Plus, the stitch would have been off too
much. I grumbled, a lot! But, I picked up a needle and thread and
began hand stitching.
I found a rhythm.
I learned thread types matter. I
broke an embroidery hoop. I prayed for
hours as I stitched. I watched a lot of
television and listened to music. I
began enjoying the task. My stitches
became better, not great, but better. I
tweaked my mother's design to fit my needs; though hers is the better. Mine is the done. Near the end, I changed.
My mother and I have always had a rocky relationship,
oil and water. I could carry on for
hours with stories. I could drone on
about how I felt about her, especially in the end. The last ten years were terrible. Amazingly enough, the last five became even
worse. At the end, I was relieved when
the drama ended. I only cried once and
that was out of anger that she couldn't love my sister and I enough to enjoy
us, enjoy life. I didn't miss her at all
until a few days ago.
I am not sure what changed or why. It probably has to do with the bloody stained
glass window quilt, all those hours I felt her watching over my shoulder
criticizing me. I know she would not
like the way I did the quilt or my stitching.
I am not the perfectionist she was.
However, I found myself missing our good talks on the phone. Me calling to tell her what I had been up
to. Discussing quilting or
gardening. I didn't/don't want to miss
her. My husband says it is because I
want to hold onto the anger. I
disagree. I don't like being angry. I think missing her hurts to much. I don't want to hurt for her because of all
the black running through our relationship.
Much of it was an ugly tar that covered the glass that could have been
so beautiful.
I even hand sewed on the back of the binding. More black.
Michel. Shattered chards of glass
laying on the floor. As I continued to
stitch on Thanksgiving, his favorite holiday, I reflected on my emotional
health. I had prepped myself for the possibility
of being depressed. From the time he
knew what a feast was, he loved Thanksgiving.
The memories made me smile, not become sad. However, sad I was.
I miss my husband.
Last year, he was in Fort Bliss getting ready to deploy to Cuba. This year he is in Fort Bliss again. He is getting ready to deploy to the Middle
East this time. In the past year and a
month, I have seen him a total of three and a half months. Yes, I am sad. And as I stitched away, I realized this
sadness is the black metal of my stained glass window. I could dwell on the black until no sunlight
spilled through the panes of glass, or I could give the black a respectful nod
and continue with my day. I continued
the day by stitching and cooking.
Today marks the day my son's life was taken from him,
from us. The situation will always cause
me to have some anger sliding along the black metal. The panes of glass from his last six years on
earth are dark. I am thankful that most
of my days in the last six months have lost the darkness of mourning. Yes, I have bad moments. His birthday was a hard day. It began as black as night. I prayed.
I baked his favorite cookies to take to school, peanut butter with
chocolate chips. The memories of his
childhood brought a happy smile to my face, the sunlight filtered through
casting a rainbow of colors in the air.
This holiday season I could easily keep my eyes on the
metal. I could dwell on the anger of
Michel's death or the gaping hole of my husband being gone for another year or
the state of the world. Instead, I am
going to be thankful for all my blessings.
I have tons of happy memories with Michel. I have a loving husband who is providing for
us and keeping the world a safer place to live.
I have two amazing kids who are standing by me in this crazy life. Friends and family abound. Projects literally are spilling out of my
craft/writing room. Okay, they are also
in my bedroom closet and garage. Uff da.
Life is a blessing.
My stained glass window is far from complete. I plan on adding many more panes to the
project. I know more metal has to be
added. I fear the metal. I try not to panic, but at the moment, the
uncertainty of life is a prevalent part of my human condition. I say a prayer and move from the darkness
that tries to dull the colors. I
concentrate on the blessings. The joy of
my faith keeps the light pushing through to shine on me.
