I first met my dear friend, Selena, on a windy, chilly, snowy
day, a week before Christmas in 2010. She and her husband, Jeff, along with members
of their extended families were standing on snow covered, icy ground near the
front of a small, rural cemetery.
When I got out of my car, my eyes went quickly to the tiny,
grey casket perched on a wooden bier in front of a large whole dug in the
earth. I’d never attended an infant funeral.
Mike, stood next to Selena and Jeff, although I could easily
have picked them out in a crowd with grief molding their faces and eyes that
were blank allowing tears not vision to settle in and flow.
I stood to the side to let the family have full view so they
could hear the prayers and words Mike would say to commit two, sweet little
souls to God and their bodies to the earth. The twins, born at 23 weeks,
survived a few days; Sean, the little boy, one day, his sister, Jillian, two.
Jeff and Selena scheduled to relocate from Raleigh, North
Carolina to Fishers, with Jeff’s job transfer, birthed the babies, and packed
to move following their loss, all within a month.
They knew no one in Fishers. However, God set to work an
amazing series of events to bring them to a church that would envelop them with
love and compassion for these days. Their pastor in Raleigh, knew Mike from their days at the Duke Divinity
School. He contacted Mike, describing Sean and Jillian’s deaths. Mike set in
motion through a series of emails and phone calls a few nights of meals, visits
from people in the church to assist with the early days of their arrival and
following the funeral service.
Even the caretaker of the small cemetery was a member of the
church. She quickly arranged a place for the children to be buried.
With such deep grief and knowing few people, Selena turned
to her long-time skill in quilting to companion her through these days and
months of processing great loss.
She and Jeff were given all of the quilts that touched Sean
and Jillian while they were in the hospital. Early in February, Selena decided
to make two memory quilts, one for Sean and one for Jillian to send to the
hospital in Raleigh where they were born.
With her then nearly three-year-old son, Alex, by her side, they
found quilt shops in the Indianapolis area. Eventually she found the perfect
fabric to honor her dear children. Planning the quilts, and purchasing fabric,
gave Selena structure and focus for her days.
Into the spring and summer she sewed and quilted, finally
finishing in mid-fall, ready to mail to Raleigh in time for the first
anniversary of their deaths, November 18. Before she packed the quilts, she
asked the two pastors of the church, her Bible study group and a few friends,
to pray over her handwork. The quilts were heavy with her grief, but also heavy
with prayer from those who cared and loved her.
I asked Selena to describe her experience making the memory
quilts.
“The hum of my sewing machine has always brought me a sense
of peace. As a young girl, I’d play with my dolls at my mother’s feet under the
table while she sewed, hearing the monotonous hum of the needle piercing the
fabric.
I grew up and discovered my love for sewing in particular
making beautiful quilts. Six years ago, my husband and I lost our beloved son
and daughter. At a time when I didn’t want to get out of bed in the mornings, I
knew I needed to honor them by living.
The hum of the machine once again brought me peace. At the
hospital in Raleigh, we were given everything our children touched, including
quilts, blankets and hats. I found comfort in these items because I was
touching what they had last touched.
I decided to start making memory quilts in their honor to
give the feeling of touch and warmth to other families. While I piece together
bright, happy fabrics (because I know the personalities of my children are
bright and happy in Heaven), I pray for each of them. I also pray for the baby
girl who will receive my daughter’s memory quilt and the baby boy who will
receive my son’s memory quilt, praying deep into the threads, breathing prayers
into the batting, lovingly holding the fabrics as I lovingly held my own son
and daughter.
I have made two quilts each year since their passing. I send
them to the nurse who cared for my children six years ago. She, along with the
staff, decide which family will receive the quilts each year. I know my
children are resting in the arms of the Lord, proud of what their mother is
doing, listening to the peaceful hum of the sewing machine."
For Your Reflection:
1.
How have you worked through times of deep grief
and loss?
2.
What ways help you touch those places of grief
that seem endless, without words or form?
3.
Can art (I consider quilting an art form)
become an avenue of expression, a picture of what wells from your heart?
Join me in praying for Jeff and Selena this week as they remember the sixth anniversary of the loss of Sean and Jillian this Friday, November 18.
Prayer: God, many times we plough
through unbearable grief, similar to Selena and Jeff. Our loss may have a
different nature, but deep grief is often without form. Thank you for Selena’s
gift of sewing that allows her to companion others who are going through
similar experiences. May you bless each with love, and prayers that are within
every stitch and inch of fabric. Guide
those who are in grief; lead them to a way through a hobby or special interest
that their grief can come to a place of peace, glorifying you with gratitude.
Amen.
