I stitch with ghosts.
Everytime I pick up needle and thread, I feel the spirit of my Mothers long passed.
My beloved Nan who taught me to embroider when I was 12 so that I could decorate my blue jeans (all the rage in 1973) ... my grandmother Clyde who taught me the proper way to sew a button...
Grandma Alice who loved to needlepoint could never teach me to get the hang of it but never tired of trying...
Aunt Sadie who quilted and tatted... and sewed and stitched... and left me a wedding quilt that I will pass on to my DD.
Lizzie Mama, who sat up until dawn making a coat for my Nan so that she could catch the early train from Atlanta to Chattanooga and start school at Greysville Academy... in 1921.
Rosie Mama... who died when Nan was just two years old and was buried in the dress that my great-great grandmother, Melinda, had made for her.
I can feel them close to me each time I gather my flosses, fabric, and needles...
Their love surrounds me... gives me encouragement and hope...
I stitch with ghosts...
I hope, as time passes, that my daughter will feel them close to her... be enveloped in their love... and remember the stitches they, too, crossed with love.
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