Stitching Our Life
Last weekend my childhood stuffed animal, Mopsy, met his maker. I was given Mopsy by my father, before I was old enough to remember. He was with me through everything, listened to my prayers, caught my tears and comforted me until I was far too old to still have a stuffed animal. When our oldest son was around a year old he took to Mopsy and Mopsy took up his since retired position of comforting and cuddling.
I was devastated to learn of Mopsy's untimely demise. It seemed so silly to be so sad about a stuffed animal being in pieces, but as the days have passed I have realized that lumpy little fluff of satin carried a lot with him.
As you can imagine, Mopsy went everywhere with me and so by the time I was about eight my mom had to rebuild him, for the first time. She found new material to cover his thinning ears, feet and hands. She stitched his satin seems where they had become separated. And then again, and again, and again. And every time my son made a new hole through his satin, she again stitched him back up.
My mom never complained about mending Mopsy, just like I never heard her complain about working three jobs, about taxying us around, about never, ever stopping. Every time life wore us thin she was there, ready to build us back up, confident in her mending abilities. I'll never know where she found the energy, the endless energy, but I sure am grateful. I will no doubt, spend my life as a mother striving to be just like her.
These words don't do her justice, no amount of words will ever be able to truly capture how I feel about her.
- lovefrommaria
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