Helping her mother, get over the loss of her father, a day at a time, by getting her to start the project she was doing from before, translated…
My mother’s very first sewing machine, it was from my father. Being a homemaker, one day, she’d told my father she’d, wanted a sewing machine; what she’d wanted, was the petite Japanese model, the kind that can, make the varieties of sewing projects. My father, who worked in the banks, bought back, a industrial type sewing machine; his beliefs were, if she wanted to make something, she’d needed to, be more professional about it. Turned out, my father who was in the finance industries, took in the more pragmatic considerations, paying the same price, naturally, he’d, bought the bigger one.
something, like this, maybe???
As my mother had her sewing machine, she’d started making the smaller projects first, the dishrags, the placemats, then, to the dust covers, the curtains, the drapes, then, slowly, the seat cushions, the hug pillows started to appear too, then, she’d started making, her entire pajama set too. When I’d wanted a small handbag, I’d, told my mother, and, the next time I’d gone back home down south, she’d, presented me, with an assortments of bags big and small, in a wide variety of patterns for me to select from. My mother didn’t take any lessons in sewing at all, she’d, started doing those projects on her own, she’s no expert in sewing, but, she’d done the projects very fast, like she can sew just about, any and everything.
As my father fell ill, my mother’s sewing machine stopped turning too, perhaps, she no longer had the mind, to carry on in these projects that she loved. We’re, all the same, focused entirely on my father’s wellbeing; back then, we thought, there’s a chance his condition might improve, that there was still, a chance, for us all to be a whole family.
As my father passed, we’d lifted mom up north with us to live, and, there were, a ton of larger items that isn’t lifted easily, so we’d, left them back in the south. My mother had difficulties adjusting to riding her scooter around the cities in the south all by herself, to needing to alight the bus, the MRT, into the cities, she didn’t know any of our neighbors, when she’s all alone at home, she’d gotten reminded of my father, and started crying continually, I’d not know how to console with her, I can only, take her out often, to help her practice this brand new lifestyle, without the man she loved beside her.
As my mother slowly adapted to the busy pace of life up north, she was able to transfer between the colored routes of the MRT all on her own now, and knew how to take the bus too, she’d even, gone to the traditional market places to shop for the groceries. Only that she was still lonely, as my younger sister went off to work, leaving her at home alone. And so, I’d, bought my mother, a preowned sewing machine.
instead of something like this…
The preowned machine was just like the one we had back home in the south, also, an industrial one. Being my father’s daughter, we thought alike, “if you want to make things, you do it, professionally.”, I’d even bought her a workstation that’s huge. And, my mother’s sewing machine, started back up again, after my father died.
As the sewing machine was set up, I bought the cloth, then, designed the projects, with my mother, working away on the machines; we’d made the drink bags, the Kleenex holder, the lunch bags, the keychain purses; of course, the cloth used, were all of my favorites, with the cats, and, I was her, sales manager too. With that focus back in her life again, she’d not started crying as she though of my father, and as she’d called me up, she’d no longer reminded me to dress warmly, to take care of my diet, more of the times, we’d, discussed what sort of a cloth we wanted to buy, what sort of a projects to do next, how to photograph the finished projects, to make them, more appealing.
My mother was fast on her hands in sewing, as she’d finished a set of projects, and I had yet to come up with who the clientele might be, she’s already, planning on the next projects. Perhaps, by stepping continually on that pedal of the sewing machines was her way of healing herself back up; or perhaps, in the stitches, she remembered the man she loved dearly. The one whose life, whose smiles, the one she’d loved deeply, my father, her husband, the most important pillar of strength for us all.
And so, this, is how this woman, slowly, got over the loss of her husband, her daughter managed to help distract her by giving her the sewing machines similar to the one they had back home, and the mother started, working on her own projects, which served as something to occupy her mind, to take her mind away, on missing her husband that much.