THREAD - A love letter to Arta

The work of saying goodbye has always been hard for me. I don’t know what it is about goodbyes, but the word itself is attached to a thread that wraps around my heart and then winds its way northward to a large bucket of water which lives in the corner of my eye. Just thinking about saying the word tugs at the string and releases a torrent. This “sweaty eyes string” is strong and the bucket it is attached to endlessly full of water. It is not the only thread that seems to have wrapped itself around my heart. 

 

It is one of many threads inserted, interconnected, interwoven in my being. Although not seen, they are the essence and pattern of my soul, who I am. Like trying to find the end of a tangled ball of wool, it is hard to know where that tear duct piece of twine begins. Hard to know how it entered my being or when it became a part of me. It is one of life’s great mysteries. 

While examining this “sweaty eyes” string, in among a tangled mass of strands, I have become more aware of other threads that need exploration. This tangled ball of yarn that lives inside of me, holds me together. Impossible to tease apart and dangerous to do so for fear of causing a rip in the precious fabric. So, in saying goodbye, I carefully examine the threads of goodness that come from you, wind around my heart, and remain part of the tapestry of my life. 

Thread of beauty 

Strings of pearls, scarves, rings, nesting dolls, creches, Christmas decorations, art, music, theatre, and movies. You find beauty and joy in all. Thank you for wrapping this thread of beauty around me and sharing your love of the beauty that is our earth. You have wound this thread through me and others binding us back to mother earth. Your wonder at the earth’s beauty has been planted deep in my soul.  

Thread of justice 

You told my daughters this week about how you joined the feminist movement as an older woman. I’m pretty sure this thread was in you long before you found a name for it. I might call this, in part, the thread of justice. A woman who discovered her power to make a difference. To use the tools and resources she had been given to make something out of nothing. This thread tugging you forward to feed an army of the less fortunate off boxes of distressed food, to help the widow and the fatherless/motherless, to open the bank of Arta, to honour and remember lives forgotten, to march in protests, to wear your feminist hat. This thread pulls me forward in my work with immigrants and uninsured pregnant women. It reminds me that the tools and resources I have, must be used for good and must be used by me. I will anchor myself to this thread and use tools of justice to build community. 

Thread of work 

On this issue, some might say we two are cut from the same yarn. I know few people who can work as hard as you. Three loaves of bread, a pan of cinnamon buns, two loads of laundry, a blog post, pause to read an article from the New Yorker, get dressed to the nines with pearls and a fabulous updo all before lunch time, just a typical day. No hospital I know has ever been cleaner than when you have been recovering inside. I won’t try to outwork you, but I will draw on this string to get done what must be done. To do the work that is in my power to do. To lift those around me and to move myself and others forward to more kind and gentle spaces. 

Thread of family

This thread is long and wide like a gigantic lasso. It has weight and length like your old skipping ropes. Wide enough to let all join in. “Apples, peaches, pears and plums. Jump in when your birthday comes…” Jump in…. jump in…build a larger table… squeeze a little closer together...find another chair... always space for a few more to join the circle of your love. You have long lived the truth taught by Lorraine Wright that families are who they say they are. You have opened your arms wide to include in this lasso of family – children (including the 6 that were not planned), in laws, nieces, nephews, children’s friends, borders, immigrants, women in trouble, LDS feminists, online friends, and not a few stragglers and hangers on. 

This gigantic lasso, long and just the right weight is heavy enough to create that perfect snapping noise as the lasso hits the ground, but not too heavy to tire the turners. It is heavy enough too, that when the rope catches you by surprise it can whip your leg, stinging and burning for a time. Thank you for teaching me the power of this rope and how to turn it with care.  Connections matter. I will carry this rope forward with gentleness and find joy in the skipping. 

Thread of curiosity 

My curiosity was unleashed long ago by a mother whose thirst for knowledge has no end. Your curiosity led you to some interesting places where you asked questions like - What is it like to go back to school in your 40s for a second degree? What is it like to work as a union rep? What is it like to bear and adopt children? What is it like to travel the world? What is like to visit a polygamy colony? What is it like to eat ethnic food? What does it take to learn a new skill like hairdresser? What does it take to be an activist? What does it take to record and tell your story for your grandchildren? Curiosity about the world – travel it with your best friends. Curiosity about food - explore restaurants and by learning to cook ethnic food. Curious about people – explore theatre, arts and join the community in activism. Curious about knowledge – go back to school again and again and again. Thank you for this gift of curiosity. You have wrapped a scarf of curiosity around my shoulders. Thank you for sharing your beautiful scarves. 

A few weeks ago, when I came to visit you, I awoke in the middle of the night to your nighttime restlessness. In my fatigue, I was drifting in and out of focus. You with your typical curiosity asked me casually, “what is it like to die?” Now having had no personal experience with it, and probably not quite ready for that conversation, I was at a loss for words. Few others I know have been curious enough to ask such a question. In fact, you are the first person to ask me this. Unusual questions, yes, but not unexpected given your deep desire to know all things. I remember being stumped. How to respond? What information were you looking for? Words of comfort? Practical information about the process from a medical point of view? a conversation stopper for sure!! I worried at that moment that what you might have been asking was for my beliefs about death. I certainly didn’t give a coherent answer at that moment. So, I try once more to answer the question that I think you may have been asking me. My answer in three words, “bye for now”. I have deep hope and belief that this is not the end and that the threads that lie beyond are equally beautiful. I’m count on it. I’ll find hope in the idea that these threads of connections live on, becoming strong cords, even cables of love to bind us. 

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You said to me earlier this week that “the work will go on- we each make a contribution – but then must pass the torch to others.” I believe the work we must do is related to these threads, woven, inside around and through others. It IS life’s work – connecting. We take our turn as the weaver and if we are so lucky, we leave threads of respect, courage, honesty, wisdom, humility, truth, and love into the tapestry of other’s lives. As you loosen your grasp, I will hold these threads and recognize that the miracle of saying goodbye is in saying hello to the parts of you that live in me. For these threads and the pattern imprinted on my soul, I give thanks.