Emily Dickinson’s phrase, Dying is a Wild Night and a New Road, accompanies me at times in my life. Dickinson first said it in a letter: “I know there is no pang like that for those we love, nor any leisure like the one they leave so closed behind them, but Dying is a wild Night and a new Road.” This past year, I said this phrase to my father, as we sat in the living room of where he lived with mother, who was on her own New Road that week. Life felt like a total slog in those early weeks after we lost her. I tried to get it together, but I felt so strange. Many of you wrote notes, send letters, welcoming me into this new club, and reminded me to give it time.
After a soggy winter and spring, this summer I let myself be pulled into this. I had no idea what it was going to be, or what kind of work it was. Yes, time does heal all wounds, but perhaps a little quilting wouldn’t hurt, either.
The first thing was to watch a video on how to choose fabrics, which was a great video. I could do this new thing. And when the first steps were to cut strips and sew them together, yeah — I was totally in.
Week by week, I cut and sewed and soon my file of print-outs and blocks was full:
It was like I was back in school, in a good way. In school, there’s always a syllabus, a raft of homework, a goal, a test, a completion. Working on this quilt I felt like I was accomplished something that wasn’t a duty. During this time I was getting quilts finished, but usually I have a lot of ideas and sparkles of creativity and things I want to say, but…it not this year. We had our kitchen torn apart, and then rebuilt. It was actually a relief to choose doorknobs, tile and countertop: a welcome distraction.
This article helped a lot with the sadness, letting me know that what I was going through was normal, would take time. Talking to my husband, my sisters, daughter, friends and my family was a solace. It’s all normal, yes, normal, normal, normal…but I wanted my old normal back, of happily diving into color and cloth, of not missing someone terribly.
I began to screenshot memes on Instagram, like this one, or the one below:
I retreated from life for awhile, but kept working on this Summer Camp quilt. Weeks Ringle and Bill Kerr, of the Modern Quilt Studio (who were running the Sew-A-Long) held “campfire talks.” Sometimes goofy, but always authentic, warm and interesting, I would join them a day or two late, and read through the posted comments. This project became my through-line.
I ended up with 52 blocks ( photo 1) which when placed on the wall revealed themselves to be Not Enough (2) and so I chose some of my favorite prompts and made more (3). I couldn’t see how this would ever become anything but a mush of color and line, just like I couldn’t see how I would ever feel like a life without my mother was something I wanted to have. She died at age 94, on November 13, 2022, a year ago. I’d had her all my life. I burst into tears at odd moments.
Finally, the Summer Camp Quilt-A-Long project turned a corner. Now I had to make something of these small blocks. I chose this layout, It’s a variation of one of their variations, with some changes suggested by my husband.
I finished quilting it this month, and made this label.
On the anniversary of her death, my husband and I drove to Utah. We picked up my father and drove to the cemetery in Paradise, Utah to see her gravesite, to remember her. Dad’s very old, and I’d forgotten to bring lawn chairs, so we were there about 3 minutes, 20 seconds. No lie. After he got back in the car, I took a few photographs, feeling a bit strange having such a cheerful quilt in this setting. While we were driving there, my father kept saying little tidbits like, “When she was a senior in high school, she was the editor of both the newspaper and the yearbook.” And, “She lived with her grandmother for a year the year before that.”
When we drove along the road beside this reservoir, he said: “We came along this way some time ago, and got as far as this bridge before we had to turn back. It was under construction.” They’d driven up there nearly every Memorial Day — or as they called it, Decoration Day — to put flowers on the gravesites of all those who had gone before. It felt very circular this day, me with my quilt, thinking about my Mom, as she always thought of her mother, her grandmother and others before her.
Back home several days later, I threw the quilt in the wash, and of course, it changed as quilts do, becoming something soft and cuddly and maybe perfect for a baby blanket? In the end I didn’t put the label on. I’ll send it out in the world without its history, letting it find its own way and purpose. I’m grateful for projects like this which are small bites at a time, helping me become reacquainted with why I like cloth and thread and quilts. I can’t always put my finger on where I am on this new road, but I feel better. I doodled a new design last night and I’m looking forward to making it.
My mother taught me to sew, first doll clothes, then enrolled me in a class at school where I made my first dress. Recently, I’ve had a couple of moments of deep remembrance, times when her presence has popped into my life, seemingly a reminder that she lives on, and still loves her daughter, and her quilts.
Thanks, Mom, for everything.
Quilt #282 • 45″ wide by 60″ long
OccasionalPiece--Quilt! 
It’s only 10 am and I have tears in my eyes!
I feel the amount of mourning we do is in proportion to the amount of love we shared. Sounds like you love(d) your mother immensely. And your mother was blessed to have you as a daughter.
That quilt has amazing color and shapes! I love it.
And darn it all, I’ve been restraining myself from buying new fabric, and then you go and introduce me to modern quilter. Too. much. gorgeous. color!
Thanks for your posts, as always. Wishing you peace.
My Mother passed 20 years ago and I still think of her every day and still miss her tremendously. Holidays make me miss her more. Sending love and blessings to you.
What a perfect project for your time of need! And a lovely finish. I like your idea of keeping the label separate from the quilt: you have the memory, someone else has a beautiful quilt.
Such a poignant post. The quilt is beautiful and I love that you took it to the cemetery in Paradise. We are still on that long road. Love. S.
I was chatting this morning to a cousin about loss and healing. I know the road you’ve been on this year. This came up a few minutes later in one of my feeds. It reflects how I feel about my mother; I think of her every day and am thankful for the skills she taught me. And thankful to both my parents for teaching me that to make and do for others is showing love.
https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/1195156-the-day-my-mother-died-i-wrote-in-my-journal#:~:text=Together%20my%20mother%20and%20I,me%2C%20available%20at%20any%20time.
Our mothers are so special and play such a significant role in our lives. It’s like loosing a part of ourselves with they depart from their earthly home.
Your quilt was the perfect comeback to your love of creativity. The struggle of bringing it together reflected your life perfectly. It turned out beautifully, as will you moving forward.
Special memories of Mothers are universal.
You put those thoughts we have into words.
You took me back to standing with my grandmother at her mother’s grave on Decoration Day. So much devotion to those who came before.
You are a testament to your mother’s love and caring, Elizabeth.
X
Mary K, above, said it perfectly….our thoughts in your words. I always say we never get over missing our mothers. Mine has been gone over fifteen years and I miss her more every day. Another poignant and heartfelt post Elizabeth. I think we put ourselves back together one stitch at a time but are we ever fully whole again? Your quilt is a lovely testament to your mother and your healing.
Oh Elizabeth, so much I could share. The quilt is beautiful but I really like how you didn’t put the label on it, making it have new memories. Everyday I think of my Mother. It seems especially when I’m talking to my daughter and wondering what she would say. I was binding a quilt earlier and everytime I knotted the thread I thought of her. When I was young I would always ask her to knot my thread when I was hemming something. She did it so quickly. I was so amazed. Amazing mothers – they keep living on!
I love the Jewish saying, “May her memory be a blessing.” I can already see how this is working in your life.
I always enjoy your posts. It’s so hard to lose loved ones. My mother has been gone 30 years and my father has been gone a little over 20 years. I went on in life sort of pretending that they weren’t gone but just too far to visit, but recently, I have found myself missing both of them so much. I sure waited a long time to grieve, but I guess it is necessary. I really like your finished quilt as soon as I saw it but when you showed the progress, I couldn’t see how you could make it come together, but you did. Great work as always! Thanks for sharing.
I’m so sorry for the difficult grieving process. Unfortunately, we all go through it with various degrees of pain, and in various processes. I completely understand, as I experienced depression for the first time in my life. God pulled me through, and I know you too will reach that time of peace. I’m glad you had quiltmaking to turn to, as a therapy. And I completely admire you for sticking with the project! Your quilt turned out just lovely! Though my top is complete, I have yet to quilt and finish it – a goal to attain before year’s end.
I can follow the blue bar pieces across your wonderful quilt and almost feel the journey that you had embarked upon.
The journey of grief is so different for us all but your words speak so eloquently of your own travel through this time. I am the same in the way that cloth can help me through many things, almost like it is stitching my own thoughts back together as well as those pieces of cloth.
I am so glad you have hit the “better” place in the journey and I bet that doodle will become a wonderful piece of quilted art…even if only in your mind, at least in my world, all those doodles don’t quite end up in fabric.
May you have a warm and loving Thanksgiving in this crazy world we are traveling through.
A lovely tribute to your mom, Elizabeth. My mom died when she was only 51 years old. What a blessing to have had yours for so many years. We carry them with us, always.
What a truly lovely relationship you had with your mother, I’m so sorry for your loss! I read your post with tears in my eyes. I lost my Mum about 14 months ago – she was the mother in my life to me. I spent 12 months with the family when I was an exchange student in Australia when I was a teen. I still get teary eyed easily over losing her. My mother became an alcoholic when I was in first grade. She passed when she was not quite 41 & I was 23 – hers was the first funeral I arranged. God blessed me with that trip to the most wonderful family — and I learned what a normal, loving family truly was.
A fitting and caring post, Elizabeth. Care for your mom, care for yourself and love all around. Blessings.
Lovely thoughts about your Mom. I’m glad stitching helped you mend your heart. When we lose someone close a little bit of us goes too and it can be hard to find ourselves. Wishing you peace in 2024. I like the layout you chose for your quilt. It gave structure amidst the variety. I’m sure someone will feel comforted by it just as you were in making it.
As JK related, “may her memory be a blessing” seems the sum of the loving way you write about your love and loss. Your mom is blessing and to share this visit with your dad is a very full-circle snap shot of your family life. Like you, I am a maker.
Those memories your dad shared of your mom sound very special. I’m glad you were able to go back and be with him to celebrate, remember, and love her together. And hooray for through lines. I heavy grief, I’ve never been able to go right to quilting; it has taken a while for my energy to sustain me enough to create.
What a beautiful post! I love that you ultimately decided to send the quilt out into the world to find it’s own destiny. Learning to live with loss is perhaps our hardest task in life and it seems like you are doing about as well as one can. Thanks so much for sharing your story and inspiring the rest of us.
Grief is such a difficult, surprising, and constant presence. My mom died in February. Sewing managed to be a refuge for a while, and then it wasn’t. I stopped sewing in June. My beloved dog died in July, and I still have not gotten back to my projects, though I look at them everyday because they are still sitting out where I’ve left them. I know my sewjo will return at some point, and maybe moving into the upcoming new year will be the line I need to cross before feeling more myself than I have and finding the same joy I used to in my passions. It’s interesting and helpful to read about other people’s journeys on the New Road. Thank you very much for sharing parts of yours.
What a beautiful post. Grieving can be magnified during the holidays. What a wonderful remembrance of your Mom. The quilt will be a lovely ray of sunshine for someone. I love that Dickinson quote.