Saturday, May 25, 2013


On this Saturday eight years ago (although the date was the 28th of May, not the 25th), I was sitting at work, talking with a colleague when I got the phone call.  Without even saying "Hello," my cousin Khadijah sobbed, "Uncle Craig is dead!"  I went home immediately, stunned.  My father was gone.  My larger-than-life, fun-loving, vibrant, effusive father had died in a car accident.  The thought that kept running through my head was, "Donald will never get to meet him."  I was 9 months pregnant at the time, and Donald was born 3 weeks later.

No worries, Dad, Donald has met you many times over in the stories we tell and the photos we share.
Dad graduated from college the year I turned 11.  I see that I get my aversion to ironing from him!
Luckily, he was able to meet Jason several times.  In every photo, Jason is gazing at him, enthralled.
One of my favorite photos - my dad and my brother
So this Memorial Day weekend, my father, who served in the US Air Force, occupies my thoughts.
He looked quite dapper in his uniform (with my grandmom)
So does my mother-in-law.  Knowing that she was dying didn't make losing her any easier.  I wailed after losing my father that I never had a chance to say "goodbye."  Having had that chance with Wilma, I realize there isn't enough time or words to say all that needs saying.

I've started making my husband a quilt from his mother's shirts.  She loved striped cotton oxford-type shirts, usually in blue, so I'm making a Kaffe Fassett inspired Shirt-Stripe Boxes quilt.  Luckily, she had a TON of them!  I've disassembled several shirts, but have only made one square so far.
First block made from Wilma's shirts
It is hard to cut and sew with tears in your eyes.