stitches
It takes time, but the stitches will hold...
photo by Bru-nO at pixabay
stitches
On the wall of our kitchen hangs a framed cross-stitch artwork. It simply reads "OUR KITCHEN", and beneath the words are child-like pictures of fruits and vegetables. But the stitchings are fine and neat and one cannot count the hours she spent on the aida fabric. She is very perseverant, my missus.
She is also a good seamstress. She fixes up the missing buttons on my shirts, alters my new jeans. She sews dresses and skirts for herself and friends. Her pencil skirts are stunning. She modifies old jeans to make shorts, long before distressed jeans hit the stores. All this on a sewing machine at home.
"Aren't these shorts a bit too short?", I ask one alarmed day. She smiles and says it was not, and she will look good in it, which I cannot argue with that.
Tonight, after work, I pack a dinner home from the coffee shop and rummage in the fridge for a beer. The house is eerily quiet. I light up three joss sticks and place them in the urn on the altar, in front of her memorial tablet. Sometimes I would tell her that living without her is difficult, but I will try.
You see, sometimes in life, you pick the short end of the straw. Like her. Out of the blue a disease, a sickness, which she fought very bravely. The doctors tried to stitch her up as best as they can, but the rogue cells were rampant, and it has been many years since she lost that war.
I stand at the kitchen window, looking down at the parking lots below, at the stragglers going home to their families. I feel a tinge of envy in me, but I smile. A cool wind rushes in from the warm night, caressing my face, holding back the tears that are welling in my eyes…
03/08/2019
**********
313 words. Exactly. Semi-autobiographical.
Andy Lau - Thank You For Your Love
© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019
stitches
On the wall of our kitchen hangs a framed cross-stitch artwork. It simply reads "OUR KITCHEN", and beneath the words are child-like pictures of fruits and vegetables. But the stitchings are fine and neat and one cannot count the hours she spent on the aida fabric. She is very perseverant, my missus.
She is also a good seamstress. She fixes up the missing buttons on my shirts, alters my new jeans. She sews dresses and skirts for herself and friends. Her pencil skirts are stunning. She modifies old jeans to make shorts, long before distressed jeans hit the stores. All this on a sewing machine at home.
"Aren't these shorts a bit too short?", I ask one alarmed day. She smiles and says it was not, and she will look good in it, which I cannot argue with that.
Tonight, after work, I pack a dinner home from the coffee shop and rummage in the fridge for a beer. The house is eerily quiet. I light up three joss sticks and place them in the urn on the altar, in front of her memorial tablet. Sometimes I would tell her that living without her is difficult, but I will try.
You see, sometimes in life, you pick the short end of the straw. Like her. Out of the blue a disease, a sickness, which she fought very bravely. The doctors tried to stitch her up as best as they can, but the rogue cells were rampant, and it has been many years since she lost that war.
I stand at the kitchen window, looking down at the parking lots below, at the stragglers going home to their families. I feel a tinge of envy in me, but I smile. A cool wind rushes in from the warm night, caressing my face, holding back the tears that are welling in my eyes…
03/08/2019
**********
313 words. Exactly. Semi-autobiographical.
Andy Lau - Thank You For Your Love
© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019
posted by dsnake1 at 10:51 PM
16 Comments:
This story tugs at my heartstrings. The cross-stitch, the sewing, her banter about the shorts, all so wonderful.....then the coming home to an empty house, the joss sticks, the "I will try." A sad story, so beautifully told.
This hurts, hurts, hurts... It is wonderful that the memories are still there and will always be, but... the loss always feels raw.
A moving account. Your missus stitched something else beautiful; enduring memories. And the stitches will hold, indeed.
I smiled at the cross-stitch artwork and the perseverance of your missus; I thought that she was still fixing up missing buttons, altering jeans and sewing her own clothes. The eerie quietness and the joss sticks on the urn made the hairs on my arms stand up and tears came to my eyes when I read the final paragraphs.
People have said that love is built in the small moments. But grief can work its way in through those moments too, making them leave large enough to engulf us whole. All we can do is try the best we can to keeping going while holding on to the beauty of our memories.
A poignant story, and you told it so beautifully. We always have something to remember our loved ones by.
Sherry,
Thank you.
yes, a sad story.
Magaly,
Thank you.
indeed, even after so many years..
Khaya
ah, the stitches will hold.
Oh, now I'm in tears. A beautifully written piece.
Kim,
i guess the ending took many by surprise. :)
Rommy,
Thank you for your encouraging comment.
what you said is true, the living must go on as best as we can...
Vivian,
thank you! :)
Glad that you liked it, Rosemary. :)
This is so utterly beautiful! The memories we hold and share are always a tribute to those we hold dear that have passed before us. This brought me to tears.
Thank you, Carrie! :)
You brought her so vividly to life that by the time her partner is alone, I know how alive she still is, how present. What great writing!
Thank you, Susan! :)
Lovely blog and very touching post.
Wish you were on WP, though. Then I could LIKE this one too.
For this reason, I had left Blogger. Was more interactive on WP.
But I know how it is, Blogger is comfy. Easier to use and one can get used to a blog site joint as a second home kinda thing.
Wishing you all the best!
Thank you, sandmoos!
Years back, I thought of migrating this blog to Wordpress, but i chickened out. This blog is still on the old 'Classic' template, and I still haven't the heart to migrate it to the newer 'Layouts' template. You are right that i have gotten used to Blogger. It really feels like a second home. :)
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