Legacy Archives - Judith D. Henry Blog

Patchwork Love

There’s a quote by author, Ray Bradbury, that has always resonated with me. “Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched, some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there.”

When my mom, a gifted artist, passed away in 2013, I carried home her supplies with no expectation of when or if they might ever be used again. In my grief, it simply made me feel better to see those well-worn brushes standing at hopeful attention in her favorite coffee mug, along with boxes of paints, fabric, and canvases.

Finally picking up one of her brushes in 2016, I focused on flowers, one of her favorite subjects, as well. Suspending judgment, I simply allowed myself to see what developed, and with each piece I came to understand more deeply how every creative act we engage in holds seeds of joy, and the power to help us heal.

Fast forward to now. Like me, my favorite jeans have begun showing signs of wear. Despite being tattered and frayed, though, they’re far too comfortable to toss aside. Instead, I’ve begun reinforcing the weak spots with leftover silk scraps from my mother’s batik paintings. Odd shapes, sizes and colors, one patch even contains her signature. My stitches are mismatched and irregular, but no matter.

Ray Bradbury had it right. I smile more now while wearing these crazy patchworked jeans, just knowing the story those slivers of fabric can tell – one of comfort, connection, and honoring my mom’s beautiful spirit.

The Stuff of Memories

Ray Bradbury said, “Everyone must leave something behind when he dies. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there.”

Seeing these unusual family portraits by Camila Cotrambone, I began to think about the objects that are tied to memories of my parents. My mother’s paisley address book – the writing looks like a carnival of ants tumbling across the page; her well-worn paintbrushes still stored in a favorite Hanukkah coffee mug I gave her years ago; my dad’s prayer shawl from his long ago temple days, tucked away in a burgundy velvet pouch; and a collection of his engineer’s slide rules, yellowed with age. There is such comfort and connection to be found in these ordinary talismans – along with the stories I tell, another way to hold my parents close.

What about you? Are there any possessions from a loved one that you hold dear?

The Art of Gratitude

During the last year of my mother’s life, she was boomeranging between home and late-night trips to the emergency room every other month. This often meant lengthy hospital stays that left her even weaker than before, and every time it happened, I found myself mentally trying to prepare for the end.

During one of my visits, after talking about her art classes which she’d been taking for years, and the latest scoop on my siblings, I took her hand and said, “I love you, and it’s important to me that you get the sendoff you really want, when the time comes. How about if we put our heads together and plan your memorial service?”

She clapped her hands and said, “Oh, that’s a great idea. What should we talk about first?”

So we mapped it out, from the music (Barbra Streisand songs, including “Second-hand Rose,” since she was a passionate Goodwill shopper, and Klezmer tunes, which she’d grown up with in an orthodox Jewish home) to the food she enjoyed most (deli sandwiches from TooJay’s). With a loud guffaw, she suggested invites that said, “No gifts, necessary,” but lots of balloons. And in typical fashion, she cautioned against anything maudlin or sentimental, just wanting people to tell stories of the good times they’d shared.

When the time came, it turned out to be the perfect celebration of her life, filled with laughter, tears and memorable moments. As a final tribute, each guest was given one of her well-worn paintbrushes with a small tag attached that read:

In memory of Sally D

May 4, 1922-March 28, 2013

“The essence of all beautiful art is gratitude.” – Nietzsche

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My mother taught all of us about love, friendship, and the importance of being thankful in our everyday lives. To honor her amazing spirit, why not take a moment to leave a comment acknowledging what you are grateful for. She would have loved that.