Mending

 To mend is to repair, fix and restore. Lately I have been darning up the damage of my year old dog. A blanket made for me by my mother. A quilt with one corner ripped, mangled up as my dog sought to fight with it. 

I didn't do a good job. But I do find mending soothing. It helped to realize I couldn't make the blanket look like it used to. And then as I worked on it, trying to make small even stitches, I realized I didn't want to. I let go and just enjoyed the messy looking process. Just like my grief, I am unevenly stitched up these days, scars and tears made visible. But still a good blanket, still comforting, still keeping people warm, still full of the memories of my mother giving it to me, of the times I've looked at it, felt the comfort of her love. 

I won't be writing next week. July 8th is the second anniversary of Andrew's passing. I'll be in another state with friends. Finding comfort in different, in nature, in love and friendship. Yesterday, after some spontaneous tears I thought, he's gone. It doesn't matter what day it is. He's gone. The thought took some of the intensity off the trauma memory of the day. And I think of me. Please don't remember the day I passed away whenever that may be...more than my birthday, the day I married, the happier, happiest days of my life. I think Andrew would want that too.