Two hundred and fifty sculptures—scraptures—created by my Mom over a lifetime (most in the last 30 years of her life) made from scraps and junk that most people would throw into the trash, awaited the movers’ arrival. They would be driven to their new home: my brother’s climate controlled storage unit in California. Two hundred and fifty sculptures, some standing 6 ft tall, some less than 1 ft, lovingly hand dusted, carefully bubble wrapped and packed in boxes by me after my Dad joined my Mom in spirit in 2021.
Art was not something to do, it was a necessity, as necessary as breathing. In fact, to Mom everything was art. It was the beauty of sunlight pouring through a fresh slice of tomato held up to the window. It was the joy of sweeping dollar bills into the house at midnight on New Year’s for good luck. It was turning a wine glass with a broken stem into a beautiful bell, and handing it to the embarrassed house guest who accidentally broke it while gesturing too broadly. It was singing backwards (breathing in while singing, instead of breathing out) just because it was fun. It was unabashed laughter, hugs, guidance, food, and great conversations. And, it was sewing. Oh, how she loved to sew! She had even joyfully managed to sew the last outfit she would ever wear. It was a dress made with shiny, silky orange fabric. We dressed her in it after she passed away after raising a glass, smiling and saying, “Hooray!”
As her health declined and she was bedridden in her final days, she still put on lipstick every day and smiled broadly. She was a master of reshaping sad moments into beautiful memories. As we locked eyes in a mirror as I was cleaning her room just days before she died, she smiled and said, “You have a new name. G.G.”
“Gigi?” I said, perplexed, and hopelessly unaware of where this was going.
“G.G.,” she said, “God’s Gift.”
With arthritic hands, she picked up the small rectangular piece of blue and white fabric in her lap and continued sewing with a needle and thread. It would be her last art piece called, “Bon Voyage.” She took three lapel pins to finish the piece. A tropical trees pin was placed above an abstract wooden pin to represent an island, with the whale pin swimming by. A piece of the aforementioned orange fabric was incorporated to represent the sun.
Today as these memories washed over me almost simultaneously, my eyes filled with tears. I wiped them away, took a deep breath and got back to the task of breaking through my writer’s block and coming up with a newsletter article.
That’s when I heard my Mom say: How are you doing?
Me, shrugging: So so. I really miss you. And, I need a title and inspiration for my article.
Mom’s reply came without hesitation: Sew sew.
Thanks, Mom. Sew it is.
